


For You: 4 O'Clock

by inspiredbythemusic



Series: For You [1]
Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SHINee, Super Junior, SuperM (Korea Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 110,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiredbythemusic/pseuds/inspiredbythemusic
Summary: “I realized when I blinked that the rose he held was broken. It hadn’t wilted, but the still scarlet petals that looked soft to the touch were falling apart. He cradled the flower with both hands as if willing it to mend. I wondered if he knew that it was an impossible hope— the petals were shed forever— but I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted his efforts to succeed. And maybe they would, I dreamed, if I kept my mouth closed.”
Relationships: Lee Donghae/Original Female Character(s), Lee Taemin/Original Female Character(s)
Series: For You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954966
Comments: 13
Kudos: 7





	1. Comeback

“Dude! Lei!” Lucas cheered into my ear as he (again) combed his fingers through my recently chopped black hair. Independent from those who cried that I ruined my visuals, he boasted, “I ** _love_** this!”

Lucas was too excited. About my haircut, about my still-secret impending debut in SuperM’s comeback, about getting to work together after years of being best friends. Even as I struggled to escape his reach, trying to smooth my hair before a stylist could scold me for wasting their hours of hard work, trying to force my smile into the hard line that would fail to convince Lucas to behave, I laughed. I was too excited too.

My laughter died with the ever-present realization that somebody is always watching. That curse of being an idol meant that we couldn’t feel this way— carelessly happy— or, rather, that we shouldn’t.

Before I could remind Lucas (he always needed to be reminded), Mom’s voice broke through the on set bustle. “Break’s over, kids! Hands to yourself Lucas— this is why we have dating rumors! You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted!” She spoke without glancing up from her clipboard, without faltering in her fast-paced course to who knows where to do who knows what, the fabric of her bright red pantsuit swishing in time each step.

Lucas finally stepped away, instinctively abandoning his assault on me to stare after Mom. As I dropped my phone into my backpack, satisfied that there was nothing worth a response in my inbox or on social media, he whistled. “Dude, Mom is hot.”

Were I not used to that— Lucas referring to my mother as if she were also his, calling her hot— I might have cringed. Indifferent, I forced my eyes to roll because that was the kind of reaction Lucas liked. “Do you ever think that’s why you can’t get a girlfriend? The fact that you lust after my mother— our manager?”

Lucas shook his head. “Nah. I can’t get a girlfriend because everyone things I’m dating you.” He poked my forehead accusingly as if his smothering affection weren’t the cause of those false rumors, and I swatted his hand away. “Plus, didn’t ya hear? We can’t even touch a person of the opposite sex or else we’ll end up like the idol who never debuted.” His breath huffed out of his forever-swollen lips.

The story about the idol who never debuted because of an unplanned pregnancy was some kind of fable, myth, or urban legend that pervaded every aspect of life as an S.M. idol. Maybe nobody ever really believed it. Maybe everyone thought it was some cleverly crafted tale to get us to focus on training. Maybe we thought we wouldn’t hear it after debut, but it was whispered in response to every dating scandal and mentioned by Mom still on the (frequent) occurrence that Lucas ignored my boundaries.

All I know is that Lucas and I hated that story, and we expressed our hatred differently. Lucas was determined to rebel against it not by getting a real girlfriend but by committing to being my best friend in every sense of the word, regardless of what the press said, regardless of how fans often misinterpreted, regardless of Mom’s plentiful scoldings. And I— well, Lucas said that I was the perfect idol because I was as obedient as I was talented, but the truth was that becoming the scandalized idol in the next cautionary tale was my biggest fear. That’s why I strictly observed a self-imposed total dating ban: fear of controversy. And maybe deeper down, a fear of intimacy, but more on that later.

I shied away from Lucas’s reference to the scandalized idol, rationalizing to his widening eyes, “I’m due on B set. I have to re-do my introduction because I kept getting distracted by Taemin’s laugh yesterday.” I wondered what could have been so funny to Taemin, but I never would have asked back then.

Lucas’s mouth fell open, I’m sure, to tease me about being incapable of functioning around Taemin, but his turn to speak was stolen by a boisterous trio of men I would recognize anywhere.

The faces of Donghae, Eunhyuk, and Shindong were among the most familiar of my childhood. I could remember vaguely when they debuted. I was six years old, sitting backstage where Mom could find me as soon as the first Super Junior Stage was completed. Being an unofficial trainee at the time, I was studying Mandarin.

Anyway, what matters is that I couldn’t escape once Super Junior fixed their gaze on me. If I did, they would tell Mom, and I would be in trouble not only for disrespecting my elders from work but also my elders in a familial sense.

“Where’s our manager?” Shindong barked at nobody in particular. Nobody responded because Super Junior’s demands for Mom had become too commonplace to garner any attention.

“Isn’t this a bit bold?” I smiled gratefully while accepting a strawberry milkshake offered by Donghae, who greeted me with a small closed-mouth grin. “You guys have stormed onto the SuperM set every day this week.” Which meant I had a strawberry milkshake every day that week. Oops. Another failed diet.

Donghae said, “We’ll cross improper lines for you mom every day of every week,” and Eunkhyuk added loudly, as if aspiring to arouse Baekhyun’s attention, “Yeah! She was our manager first! She loves Super Junior best!”

Baekhyun appeared out of nowhere. As always, his voice— a bright shout— preceded him. “Not a chance! She’s our manager now! I’ll never let you take her!”

And just as quickly as he had appeared by my side, Baekhyun dashed off in pursuit of Mom with Eunhyuk and Shindong following closely behind.

I shook my head. Goofball Baekhyun, running the wrong way.

“What is it?” Donghae tilted his head to meet my gaze. “She’s not that way?”

Donghae was so earnest, so intent on looking right into somebody’s soul, that these moments when I held his attention were blush-inducing. I squirmed, and Lucas snorted. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know where Mom is. It’s been kinda hectic, and I haven’t seen her in a few hours—”

It was hard enough to lie to Donghae without Lucas butting in.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas had been quiet for too long, so he shouted through a mouthful of barbecue chips fished out of my backpack. Thief. “She just told us— ow!” He shrieked as I grabbed his hand and crushed it with all the force I could muster.

“Sorry, Donghae.” I bowed to my senior. “We really have to go! I hope you find my mother!” Guilty, my eyes flinched away from his frowning face.

Once we were out of Donghae’s earshot, and once I dropped Lucas’s hand, he stretched his digits and whined, “That hurt, Lei! Why did you do that? And why did you lie to Donghae about Mom?”

“Because,” I hissed, narrowly dodging an intern running with two tall cups of coffee, “they’re fighting.”

“They’re fighting?” Lucas gasped.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Or, at least, I thought they were fighting. I didn’t know why Mom was avoiding Donghae, but I had overheard vague snippets of her conversations with Heechul when they were supposed to be watching some drama in the living room after dinner. I heard her sigh of relief when she learned that she would be responsible for organizing SuperM’s comeback and tour rather than assisting with the next Super Show. I didn’t need to know the specifics that Mom would never tell me. No matter how much I liked Donghae, if there was a fight, I was on Mom’s side.

“Here.” I passed my milkshake to Lucas after taking one long sip. “You can have this. I can’t take it onto set.”

“Ooooh!” Lucas’s eyes rounded in gratitude. He skipped off before turning back to shout, “Wait, Lei, what’s my schedule again?”

He needed to listen during briefings instead of playing around with my hair.

Having settled into the chair, sitting perfectly still so the audio technician could clip a microphone to the collar of my sheer black sweater, I responded (not loudly enough to disturb the tech), “You’re supposed to take pictures with Mark.”

“Okay! Thanks!” He grinned.

That time, my smile wasn’t forced for the camera; it was a reaction to Lucas.

Taemin and Kai were unapproachable, each for completely different reasons.

Lucas joked that I was the born and bred idol, and most people seemed to agree, but I always thought that if the perfect idol existed, his name was Lee Taemin. Like me, he debuted at 14. Unlike me, he proved himself worthy of fame and admiration with pure talent.

Hate comments didn’t need to remind me of the role Mom played in my success. I was grateful and, under my carefully crafted proud exterior, I was insecure. I was not talentless, and I worked hard almost in a vain attempt to distance myself from the poorly disguised mutters that I was only an idol because of Mom; Taemin was beyond talented, and he worked hard because he knew no other way to stride toward his goals.

“You need to stop being so weird,” Lucas told me after one of my first practices with the group. “You can’t just stare at Taemin when you pout about how everyone stares at you.”

Lucas was right. I hated being lumped in with the millions who failed to acknowledge Taemin’s humanity. But the truth— that I was some kind of hypocrite— was easy for Lucas to see; it was easy for him to say.

Lucas was the only person who didn’t seem to realize that Taemin was the center of every room. He was the only one who didn’t cling to Taemin’s every word. He was the only one who didn’t see Taemin’s other-worldly glow.

I think that’s why Lucas was my best friend: he didn’t see me or Taemin or anybody as idols. He saw us as people, liked us as people, and that was rare. From that first day at practice, I was torn between the desire to be like Lucas and the desire to be like Taemin.

Anyway, Kai didn’t like me. He didn’t hate me (at first) or anything, and he didn’t particularly dislike me, but he was the only member (aside from Taemin, who I admired too much to approach for fear of saying something stupid) who didn’t know me pre-SuperM.

Even once I was approved to debut with them, Kai hadn’t held eye contact with me for more than three seconds at a time. I wasn’t sensitive about it, and I wasn’t in the market for a new best friend— Lucas was more than enough— but Kai’s aversion to me was inconvenient, annoying, and frustrating considering that we were cast into a subunit together.

We recorded our songs (which were the most sensual of my career because they were meant to evolve my image from bubble gum pop Idol to something more “adult”) separately. Despite the quickly approaching tour dates, we hadn’t once practiced our choreography together. Kai was my senior, so I couldn’t approach him with my concerns about our lack of preparation. That’s why he was unapproachable; I had to wait patiently for him to address our tension.

I hoped that he would have taken the first step toward me before we had to shoot promotions, but Kai still couldn’t meet my eyes— despite the photographer’s repeated demands that were carefully phrased as requests— as our bodies were pressed flush together before a swarm of cameras.

Although I would rather forget, I think I can pinpoint the moment Kai decided to hate me. He flinched away from my touch again as I draped my arms over his shoulders and laced my fingers together behind his neck, per the photographer’s instructions.

“Come on, Kai!” I rolled my eyes, whining in unison with the rest of the members, who had gathered around the set nearly an hour ago after finishing their schedules. My face was hot not because of the close proximity to somebody as handsome as Kai, not because of the glare that hooded his dark eyes, but because my patience had run out. “Everybody is waiting for us! Can’t you just act professionally so we can get this done some time this year?”

His eyes widened as if I had slapped him across the face. Note: if you ever want to insult Kai— and I can’t imagine why you would— challenge his idea of professionalism.

Kai’s jaw tightened as he forced his eyes away from me to glance tiredly at Mom. “Manager, do we _**have**_ to do this? I would really like to avoid a dating scandal.”

My next few words were kind of hypocritical since nobody feared dating scandals more than I did. “A dating scandal? These are pictures for our subunit— for our job. Stop making it weird.”

“It _**is**_ weird!” Kai argued without looking away from Mom as she pinched at the bridge of her nose. He took two big steps backward, and my hands fell from around his neck to my sides. “And I don’t understand—”

“Just do it like this, Kai!” Baekhyun bounced onto the set, leading Lucas by the hand. After winking at the camera, encouraged by Lucas’s laughter (and Mark’s panicked, “Yo, man, what are they doing?”), Baekhyun threw his arms around Lucas’s shoulders and tossed his head back.

When everyone except me, Mom, and Kai laughed, Baekhyun leaped into Lucas. They toppled onto the hard ground, the only indication that they hadn’t broken their neck or any other bones being their ear-splitting laughter.

“Fine!” Mom was calm despite her sharp increase in volume that made me flinch. “If you don’t want to be in a subunit with Lei, Kai, then you won’t be.”

While Kai sighed in relief, I wheezed, dejected. My heart sank down to my ankles. It was bad enough to lose the opportunity to be in a subunit with one of the best dancers at S.M., it was worse to lose it at work where I couldn’t express disappointment, and it was worst to lose it in front of Taemin, who stood stiff and red at slack-jawed Taeyong’s side.

Embarrassed and eager to escape the stares, I bowed to Kai and set to scoop Lucas off the floor, where he still laid giggling with Baekhyun, because he would make me laugh hard enough to drive away this sinking sensation.

“Where are you going?” Mom’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Stay where you are, Lei. Kai—”

She didn’t have to finish the order. I understood mainly from Kai’s wince that he was ejected from our subunit— not me.

“Wait,” Ten said slowly, in time with my realization, “Lei’s subunit is still a thing?” His eyes sparkled. He smiled because the choreography he created for me and Kai would still find an audience.

Lei’s subunit. My subunit. The title was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

Who would replace Kai? I wondered, watching him sulk to Taemin’s side. As Taemin’s eyes flashed to meet mine for the briefest second before he muttered something to Kai— probably words of comfort, probably words to condemn my role in Kai’s semi-public disgrace— I could only think _**Please not Taemin. Don’t let it be Taemin. Anyone but Taemin.**_

And I looked at Mom pleadingly, as if she would be able to read those thoughts through my eyes. She blinked back at me.

“Oh my God!” Mark shot both hands up in the air and waved them excitedly. “I’ll be in Lei’s subunit! Let me do it, Momager! Please!”

**_Oh God. Please not Mark. Don’t let it be Mark. Anyone but Mark._ **

“Why should you get to do it?” Ten glared up at the standing Mark from his metallic folding chair. “I choreographed their dances, so I should be cast.”

“But I’m, like, the king of subunits!” Mark rose to his tiptoes and waved his arms again in an effort to secure my attention. “If you pick me, Lei, I’ll get you into NCT Dream!”

That was a bit of a running joke— my longtime aspiration to perform with Dream. Hearing it in that moment of high stress made me laugh out loud. One of those side-splitting laughs. Real. Mark smiled at having untangled the knot in my stomach with little effort. In moments like those, I thought it wasn’t so bad that he had a crush on me.

“First of all,” Taeyong interjected, ever the mediator in NCT conflicts, “Mark, you can’t get anyone into Dream—”

“Who do you think talked the agency into making Dream a fixed unit?” Mark’s face turned scarlet as he yelled, and Taeyong didn’t bat a single eyelash.

“— Second of all, Lei doesn’t get to pick who takes Kai’s place.” We all shifted at Taeyong’s casual acknowledgment of Kai’s ejection. “Ms. Kim does. So both of you—” Taeyong eyed Ten and Mark sternly, and I wondered how they didn’t fall apart under his gaze— “be quiet and let her make her decision.”

Mom nodded at Taeyong gratefully. “It’s not much of a decision to make; I’ll just employ the second choice—”

“It’s me, right?” Baekhyun finally jumped off of Lucas, stood upright, and brushed off his all-black suit while flicking his bleached bangs out of his eyes.

Baekhyun’s goofy smile faltered when Mom shook her head. “Lucas, get up. Your dream is coming true: I’m giving you permission to touch Lei.”

“Oh yeah!” Lucas flew to my side.

Before I could wrap my mind around the fact that I would be in a subunit with him— my best friend, my rumored boyfriend— Lucas grabbed me around my waist, which was exposed under a fitted white crop top— and pulled me flush against him into the pose Kai had struggled with for hours. “Leicas forever, suckers!”

As Mom ushered Baekhyun to stand with the others off set, and everybody groaned at Lucas’s ever-enthusiastic embrace of our rumors, I laughed.

The camera flashed at last. Finally relieved enough to breathe, I returned Lucas’s embrace and joked, “Is that going to be our subunit’s name? That silly ship name?”

Lucas laughed as he lowered to press his forehead to mine. That was how things should have been all along: me and Lucas free to smile at each other and express our friendship— as silly and affectionate and beautiful as it was— to the whole world without fearing backlash.

  


“Look at this.” 

I slid my phone to Lucas across the glossy light wood floor as we sat, stretching in preparation for dance practice. I watched his eyebrows knit together as he scooped the phone into his hands; I watched his jaw fall open as he scrolled past the headline and through the fans’ comments. 

“Hey.” Taeyong kicked at Lucas’s foot before joining us on the floor. Always the leader (even without the title in SuperM), he reminded, “Phones aren’t allowed in practice.”

Lowering effortlessly into a stretch that resembled the splits, Ten defended, “Momager isn’t here yet, so—”

“Look at this!” Lucas shoved my phone into Taeyong’s face. Then, as if Taeyong couldn’t read for himself, Lucas said, “Pop News is writing about the idol who never debuted!”

As Taeyong gripped the phone with his slender hands (and a curious Ten and slack-jawed, messy-haired Mark gathered around him to gawk at the screen), Taemin plopped onto the floor next to me. His knee brushed against mine, and I stiffened while he smiled despite the room’s tension, skin shimmering without the aid of makeup. 

“We don’t have to worry if it’s Pop News,” Taemin said. “They aren’t exactly a credible source— remember how they covered that ‘Any Other Name’ scandal?”

Nobody could forget the chaos surrounding the Korean adaptation of a best-selling novel written by a young American woman. The love triangle between the author, a scandalized actor (Jungkook) and the author’s best friend/famous fashion designer (Jimin) was the biggest scandal in recent history. Everybody knew that gossip as if it were the plot of a classic blockbuster film or an almost distant, almost tangible high school memory, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by Taemin’s reference. 

“You keep up with celebrity gossip?” I asked Taemin quietly, my eyes narrowing to see how this information fit with my conception of him.

Taemin’s face flushed pink. He mistook my interest for criticism as he often did in those days, and I didn’t know how to correct him. 

While trying (and failing) to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, Kai started, “Maybe Pop News isn’t credible—”

“They’re definitely not credible.” Ten crawled to the side of the room to tuck my phone into my bubble-gum pink backpack. Turning back to the group, he grinned, “Pop News is, like, if Mark was a news outlet: cringey, baseless—”

“Hey! I’m not baseless!”

“Anyway.” Kai puffed his cheeks full of air. “Pop News may be a scam, but they have a lot of followers. Sometimes if a lie is heard by enough people, it becomes like the truth.”

It would have been nice to be able to disagree, to believe that truth is truth, and lies are lies, and rumors are just rumors. I wanted to disagree. But I couldn’t. 

Kai continued, “And obviously Pop News isn’t wrong about everything. Jungkook and that author were dating! They’re even engaged now!”

So Kai kept up with celebrity gossip too. Was that the kind of thing he and Taemin talked about over meals? 

While my pulse quickened at the talk about dating scandals and I tried to ease my anxiety by resuming stretches, Baekhyun stirred from his nap in the corner of the room. 

“Well!” Baekhyun yawned. “If you ask me, Momager is the idol who never debuted.” 

“What?” The rest of us shrieked in unison, and Baekhyun laughed like a maniac at our identical wide-eyed open-mouthed expressions. 

“Just think about it! When Taemin, the king of dance—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taemin stiffen at Baekhyun’s playful compliment despite the bashful smile pulling his lips taut— “kept screwing up that choreo, Momager demonstrated. And she was no amateur.”

Considering Baekhyun’s evidence, I gnawed on my cheek. Mom was a gifted dancer; her precision, like Baekhyun said, rivaled Taemin’s. No, her precision enabled her to find fault in Taemin— perfect Taemin. 

Baekhyun wouldn’t mention this, but Mom was also a natural singer. She proved that on the first day in the studio when she coached Baekhyun through a challenging run. After he crossed his arms and whined, “What you want is impossible!” she stunned him silent by belting the notes in one attempt. 

_**But Mom couldn’t be the idol who never debuted,**_ I frowned, _**because that meant I was the reason—**_

“Look, Mom is totally hot enough to be an idol,” Lucas smirked before his eyebrows lowered skeptically. “But don’t you think Lei would know if her mom was a former trainee?”

At that remark, everybody turned to face me. 

**_No, I wouldn’t know if Mom was a former trainee._ **

I knew very little about Mom’s past because I hadn’t asked many questions. I knew that I was born in Atlanta, Georgia, her hometown. I knew that I could not remember the last time we spoke to my father. I knew that life didn’t really begin until Mom started her career by managing Super Junior. 

I didn’t remember anything before Donghae started bringing me milkshakes, and Heechul started making me laugh with funny faces, and Ryeowook (or Wookie, as I had always called him) started fitting our tea parties into his busy schedule, and Eunhyuk started unofficially training me to be an idol through dance lessons. I didn’t remember anything before Super Junior became my family. 

As I crumbled under my members’ stares, as I drowned in the guilt of having neglected Mom’s pain if she was the idol who never debuted (in the guilt of knowing I had never asked about her because the spotlight had always been on me), Baekhyun repeated, “Momager is the idol who never debuted!”  
“What?” 

We all turned to see Mom’s ghostly pale face in the doorway so quickly that we whimpered and rubbed at the backs of our necks. Whiplash. Great. 

“Don’t say stupid things, Baekhyun,” Heechul scolded as he nudged Mom’s motionless body into the dance studio. “Of course Kimberly isn’t a failed trainee! That story about the idol who never debuted is just something we tell you kids—” he jabbed an accusatory finger at me and Lucas— “to keep you from dating!”

Lucas boasted, “I knew it!” And everyone laughed as he triumphantly pumped his fists into the air. 

My laughter was forced, though. 

A glance down at my watch confirmed that Mom was half an hour late; Mom was never late. Heechul never escorted her to her schedules. Heechul never called her by her full name; to him, she had always been Kimi. Heechul never pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. 

Something was wrong, and I couldn’t ask what because we were at practice. And I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask in the privacy of our home. And I wouldn’t have been strong enough to stomach the answer. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Ribbon

“If you laugh one more time,” Lucas threatened through gritted teeth, “I’m dropping out of this subunit!” 

Considering the initial stress of Kai’s departure from the subunit, I guess Lucas expected me to tremble at his threat. Instead, I laughed harder, and he glowered at me. 

“I’m sorry.” My apology was insincere, but I had to say something when he looked at me like that. “It’s just— Lucas, this dance is so sensual, and my feelings for you are not—”

“That’s funny,” Lucas said without even the smallest smile. “I seem to remember you snapping on Kai at the photoshoot for having a very similar attitude.”

Again I said, “I’m sorry,” this time a little more earnestly before continuing, “It’s just a little embarrassing— dancing with you like this when you’re practically my brother.”

Lucas clicked his tongue and started to argue before realizing he couldn’t. “Yeah.” He laughed at our reflections, which gripped each other tightly. “Yeah, you’re kinda right.” He released his hold around my waist to flick the light switch off. 

When Lucas pressed play on our subunit(LX2)’s first finalized song, returned to my side, and once again danced his fingertips across my lower back, I didn’t giggle at the contact. With the only light seeping into the room from under the studio door since the sunlight had not yet broken through the clouds— much less through the windows lining the wall— it was easy to forget that the touch belonged to Lucas. I could pretend that the touch belonged to someone else— someone whose presence didn’t make my heart swell from some fraternal familiarity but, instead, race in anticipation of some unknown affection. 

Who did I imagine was dancing with me in the dark? Nobody specific. Nobody I knew. Nobody I met yet or would likely ever meet. 

I was not often unsatisfied with my career. I loved performing, and I highly regarded the honor of representing my country as an idol and expressing myself as an artist. But in that moment when somebody who wasn’t Lucas touched me— when I realized at the sudden sound of his voice that this was a delusion, that romance would be a fantasy for as long as I was an idol (which I still hoped would be always)– my heart plummeted from its height. 

Maybe I was lonely. 

Maybe we were all lonely. 

Maybe it was just a matter of realizing it and admitting it. 

Maybe we didn’t know how to admit it; maybe we never would. 

“What would you say if I asked you to go camping with me and the guys this weekend?” Lucas asked. The question was almost an act of mercy, an instinct to protect me from thoughts and feelings that had no comfort— that would drown me if explored. 

We moved in sync. We were always on the same page even if we weren’t allowed to be. For me, that closeness to Lucas was not an act of rebellion against our industry; I just didn’t know any other way to be.

I said, “I wouldn’t,” and Lucas huffed, frustrated either by my response or because he had fallen out of step. Squinting to watch him leap over to the stereo to restart the song, I added, “Even if Mom would let me go out into the middle of the woods with a bunch of boys— and she wouldn’t!— camping is not how I want to spend my last weekend of ‘freedom’ before the North American leg of our world tour.”

“Well,” Lucas sauntered over me, and we took the dance from the top. “How else do you plan to bond with the guys?”

I hadn’t drafted any ideas to appeal to the members who didn’t already like me. Burning at the reminder that I wasn’t well-received by everybody, I grumbled, “I’m not sneaking out of my mother’s house in a futile effort to get Kai to like me.”

“It’s not just about Kai.” Lucas smirked, “There’s also the opportunity to be alone with Taemin—”

“I don’t _**want**_ to be alone with Taemin.” 

Lucas laughed that shallow laugh he reserved for when he thought I was lying, but I was not lying. I meant it when I said that nothing seemed more distressing than the thought of being alone with Taemin. 

“Besides,” I reminded him, “Donghae’s birthday party is this weekend, and we’re all required to go.” 

“That’s on Sunday. Taeyong was thinking that we should go on Saturday—”

Before I could repeat that there was no way Mom would let me go camping, unsupervised, with SuperM— before I could explain that even if I wanted to (and I didn’t!), there was no way to sneak out without Mom noticing and grounding us all right before the tour— the lights flashed on. The room was illuminated a blinding white. 

When my eyes adjusted, I saw that Lucas’s palm was flat against my cheek— I felt it, warm, coarse— and we flinched away from each other. We squirmed at the commercialization of something so intimate, at the realization that our first tender touches had been scripted, before Donghae’s shrieks split through ears 

“Lei!” Donghae’s widened eyes fixed solely on me, and he scrambled to catch the milkshake that was falling from his grasp. “What— what are you doing?”

Had I been doing something scandalous, I might have been horrified by Donghae’s interruption of our dance practice. As it was, I treaded the brink of laughter long before Lucas collapsed on the ground in a fit of giggles. 

It was silly that despite knowing my schedule well enough to plan when to bring me a milkshake, Donghae hadn’t known, “Yes, Donghae, my mother knows that I am practicing with Lucas for the debut of our subunit. This was her idea.”

“So she approves—” Donghae set the cup down at his feet to gesture vaguely at me and Lucas with his hands— “of all this… touching?”

When I nodded, and Lucas responded with more laughter, Donghae shook his head. “I can’t believe this! I’m going to talk to her!”

I don’t know what he hoped that would accomplish. The executives approved of LX2, and with so little time before the launch of the tour, they wouldn’t recast or disband the unit just because Donghae pitched a temper tantrum to Mom. Besides, I frowned, he wouldn’t have been able to get two words into his monologue with her avoiding him. 

“And you two,” he scolded, “keep this door open and this light turned _**on**_. We don’t need any more scandals!” 

As he sat upright, Lucas’s shoulders stiffened and I held my breath in anticipation of Donghae’s conclusion, “You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted!”

It always came back to her. 

  
  


I was drowning in a nightmare that Lucas and I were on stage together in Atlanta. I was laughing because his fingertips tickled as they brushed against my exposed lower back. Lucas was laughing because he couldn’t imagine being attracted to me like the dance implied. The audience was laughing because our song was ridiculous. Baekhyun and Mark were laughing because that was all they ever did. Kai didn’t offer the smallest smile because he still hated me, and he knew that he could have performed in the subunit without making it a joke. I don’t know where Ten and Taeyong were, but they weren’t standing with Taemin who stared at me in utter disbelief, asking in a silent scream, “How did you ever become an idol?”

I woke with such a start, heart racing and breaths shallow, that I thought the pillowcase over my head was a figment of yet another nightmare until Mark’s voice, uncharacteristically nervous, said, “Guys, I think she’s awake.” 

We were in a car, I realized, when we banged into a dip in the road. 

“Shit, Baekhyun,” Lucas griped. “Learn how to drive!”

“I can drive just fine! The road just gets a little rockier the closer we get to the lake—”

“Lake?” My word was trapped inside the pillowcase. It bounced around, suffocated me, until Mark spoke up again. 

“Lei is awake!” He yelled before pulling the pillowcase off of my head. He smiled so softly that I might have been grateful were it not for the rage that washed over me as my eyes blinked and adjusted to the reality that I was in the back of Baekhyun’s stupid Audi. With Mark. On the way, apparently, to a lake. 

Lucas whirled around in the passenger seat. “Finally! How did ya sleep?”

My eyes narrowed as my tongue readied to lash Lucas for participating in some kidnapping plot, but my voice caught in my throat when Baekhyun turned from the darkened road to wink at me. “Pretty good, huh, Lei? I heard ya moaning something about Taemin.” 

The color drained from my face and returned as a scarlet blush that I hoped the boys wouldn’t notice under the car’s roof that extinguished the starlight. Baekhyun laughed, and I sank back into the seat next to Mark. I turned my gaze out the window— trying to find the stars or moon through the Autumn trees— and I tried to cross my arms, but they were bound tightly behind my back with some silky fabric. I was too angry or embarrassed to speak even to ask someone to remove the restraints until Mark promised, “You didn’t actually say anything about Taemin.” 

I glanced over at Mark, and his eyes were wide. Sincere. Holding his eternal desire to please. How much did that desire relate to his confessed crush on me? How much was it a mere character trait, a summation of Mark Lee? 

“Yeah.” Lucas slapped a hand on the back of his headrest to get my attention. “You were totally passed out.” 

Relieved slightly, I breathed, “I bet that made it a lot easier for you all to kidnap me.” 

“You’d think so, right?” Baekhyun shook his head harder than he should have; there was no way he could focus on driving with his head thrashing like that. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t scream— and Lucas told me you’re a **_biter_** —” 

“Dude,” Mark laughed, “that sounds so dirty!” My swipe at his arm made him laugh harder. He probably didn’t feel the sting of the strike through his thick hoodie. 

Undeterred by Mark’s outburst (and Lucas’s gagging at Mark’s outburst), Baekhyun continued, “But all your dead weight made you a lot heavier to lug out of that window. And why did you have to sleep on the second floor and make everything more difficult?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry. Next time, tell me when you’re gonna break into my house to drag me off on some midnight adventure— without my consent, I might add!— and I’ll be sure to fall asleep on the living room floor couch for your convenience.”

Lucas and Mark snorted at my reply, and Baekhyun said without taking the time to blink, “Thank you for your consideration!”

I wanted so badly to be mad— to keep my brow furrowed in the back seat and scowl so hard that they would have no choice but to take me home— but it was impossible because of the pearly grin Baekhyun flashed at me through the rearview mirror.

It’s unfair, really, that some people should be so cute. Baekhyun, Lucas, and— on occassion, when he decided it best suited his aims— Ten, were dangerously adorable. They could have convinced me with a single smile that they were innocent of murder, I bet. Baekhyun and Ten were conniving with their charms, but Lucas was just cute by coincidence or fate or nature. 

Taemin could have been dangerous if he wanted to be, but I hadn’t known him to wield his cuteness as a weapon. Sometimes, I thought it was unfair that somebody should be as unaware of their charms as he was. Looking back, though, I don’t know if he was all that unaware. Maybe he knew well the effect he could have on people with no effort. I didn’t know; I don’t know; Taemin is, was, and always will be something like a mystery. 

As if sharing one brain cell, Baekhyun and Lucas cheered, “I love this song!” and Lucas cranked the radio’s volume so high that the car bounced on soundwaves. 

For Mark to hear over Lucas and Baekhyun’s deafening voices, I had to yell, “Where are we going?” 

Mark’s face scrunched, confused. “Huh?” Then, a figurative light shone over his head. “We’re meeting the other guys at the campsite by the lake.”

Anxious once more, I asked, “Who’s going to be there?” But Mark had joined Lucas and Baekhyun in singing a song I couldn’t recognize, so he didn’t hear me. 

My question went unanswered until Lucas helped me out of the backseat, and I looked over to see Taeyong, Ten, Kai, and Taemin gathered around a campfire. They were laughing at something, and their laughter grew louder as they raced to greet us. 

Kai’s smile fell and crashed around his bare feet in the sand as his eyes settled on me. “What’s _**she**_ doing here?” 

Ten glared at him. Because I didn’t want to be a source of tension in the group, I scrambled to make a joke. Turning to reveal my bound wrists, I chuckled, “Well, believe me, I’m not here by choice!”

Suffice it to say that I hadn’t predicted the ensuing argument. 

“What the hell?” Taeyong growled. When I turned to face him, he was cutting Baekhyun with his eyes. “Is this what you meant by ‘drastic measures?’ Kidnapping Lei from her house?” 

“Don’t criticize your leader’s methods!” Baekhyun scolded as he pulled a drink— something I couldn’t quite see in the moonlight— out of a cooler in his car’s trunk. After gulping through half of the bottle, he said, “I got Lei here, and that’s more than you can say.” 

Taeyong rolled his eyes, and Ten said, “Momager is definitely going to notice that Lei’s gone, and she’s going to kick your asses—” he gestured to Baekhyun, Lucas, and Mark— “and ground you, and take your phones—”

“I don’t want to get my ass kicked!” Mark pouted. 

“And I don’t want to get my phone taken again,” Lucas sulked. 

Baekhyun yelled, “if I’m going down, I’m taking all of you down with me!”

Kai argued, arms crossed, “Like hell I am! I didn’t even want her to come!”

I wished harder than ever that this was just another nightmare. Maybe, I thought, if I blinked enough, I would wake in my bed far away from this fighting, away from Kai’s scrutinizing stare. Fidgeting with my restraints while everybody was too busy bickering to notice— even Taeyong, who focused his rage on Baekhyun’s “poor leadership”— I wandered past the campfire. 

Had I been wearing a jacket to shield myself from the cold mid-October nighttime breezes, it wouldn’t have been such a bad night to spend outdoors. The stars were on full display, and the moon was a sterling crescent so bright that I thought, were my wrists not bound, I could have reached out and grabbed it out of the sky and put it in my pocket. 

That was a silly thought I dreamed about often: holding the moon, carrying it around with me in the daylight as if I could protect it better than the sky. I don’t know who planted that dream in my mind or why, but I was always grateful for it. 

While I kicked at some rock I found at the edge of the water, somebody stepped up behind me and tugged at the fabric around my wrists. Half expecting it to be Lucas, I wheeled around with a smart-aleck comment dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

I swallowed my words and forgot them as Taemin stared at me with smiling eyes. He waved. His mouth was closed, it seemed, to give me the opportunity to speak first. Then, realizing that I wouldn’t (couldn’t), he softly said, “Turn around, and I’ll untie you.” 

While he set to untangling the knots, he offered, “I’ll drive you home if you really don’t want to be here.”

**_“You have a driver’s license?”_** I would have asked if my teeth didn’t sink into my tongue when his soft fingertips brushed against my skin as he unraveled the fabric. 

Taemin grabbed my shoulder to urge me to face him. His eyebrows were raised in anticipation of an answer, so I shook my head and crossed my arms, trying to rub my goosebumps away. Again, Taemin had stolen my voice, and I was shrinking or melting under his gaze that I couldn’t match. 

“Are you cold?” Taemin noticed how I shivered, and I noticed how he traced his fingers along a sky blue ribbon that must have been used to tie my wrists. 

I nodded, realizing that Baekhyun, Lucas, or Mark must have stolen from my vanity the ribbon I wore on my debut stage. I wasn’t particularly attached to it until Taemin suggested, “I’ll give you my jacket if you give me this ribbon.” 

I hadn’t worn it once since that performance nearly seven years ago, and it seemed that Taemin’s touch was reviving its once radiant color that faded after being abandoned on my vanity for all that time, but my chest tightened at the thought of losing this symbol of my debut. 

Why did Taemin want it anyway? What could he do with an old ribbon? 

Taemin shed his light blue denim jacket and carefully draped it over my shoulders. Its warmth enveloped me; its soft fleece interior— snow white— tickled my arms. 

Mumbling my thanks, I bowed, and Taemin said, “You don’t really have to give me this.” He held the ribbon out to me. “It’s just— I heard that if someone gives you a ribbon—”

“Aye, love birds!” Baekhyun screamed at me and Taemin. He and the other boys, still wearing scowls, were gathering around the campfire. Beckoning me and Taemin over, Baekhyun announced, “We’re gonna play Truth or Dare!”

Before we obeyed Baekhyun, Taemin offered me the ribbon again. I shook my head, saying, “You can keep it if you want it.”

Not wanting to overanalyze my decision, I ran to sit down on a bean bag with Lucas. Here’s the problem: that bean bag wasn’t quite big enough for two people, so I nearly toppled onto the sandy, rocky ground. Thankfully, Lucas caught me— laughing as usual— and pulled me into his lap. 

While Ten pretended to gag at us, Mark said, “Yo! Lei, there’s way more room with me!” although he sat on a bean bag identical to Lucas’s in every aspect except color; while Lucas’s was cotton candy pink, Mark’s was navy blue. 

“Listen and listen good,” Lucas told Mark, “the most popular ship in S.M. is Leicas, not— well, your name and Lei’s don’t even fit together to make a ship name!”

Mark retorted, “Obviously, our ship name is Marklei, which is perfect because my name is actually—”

“I thought,” Baekhyun interrupted with a mischievous grin, “that the most popular ship in S.M. was Kai and Taemin.”

While Taemin offered a polite smile from his place on the ground at Kai’s side, Kai quietly glowered at the fire. 

_**Oh,**_ I sank, **_he really doesn’t want me here._**

As if sensing my frown without seeing it, Lucas wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. “So, are we gonna play Truth or Dare, or what?”

Baekhyun looked to Taeyong (who sat on a scarlet bean bag) for permission to start the game. Taeyong shrugged at the attention. “Why are you looking at me? I said that we should talk through our issues as a group. This Truth or Dare thing was your idea.” 

Digging into his cooler, which I guess he pulled out of his trunk while I was talking to Taemin, Baekhyun chirped, “Oh yeah!” He held up a bottle. “Let’s start then!” After taking a swig, he passed the drink to Taeyong and asked, “Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth.” Taeyong took a small sip of the drink that he spit out when Baekhyun asked, “Do you think I’m a bad leader?”

(Maybe) trying to prevent the atmosphere around the game from souring, Ten roared, “Take another sip! The first one doesn’t count since you just sprayed it all over Taemin’s face.” 

Taemin still smiled politely as he brought the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his face with the white fabric. Although my eyes had already darted away from the first glimpse at Taemin’s abs, Lucas pressed his hands over my eyes. 

Lucas laughed as I swatted him away so I could watch Taeyong’s face burn crimson as he took another sip at Ten’s direction. Meeting Baekhyun’s gaze, which was icy despite his boxy smile, Taeyong answered, “I think you have the potential to be a great leader, but you play around too much. These guys—” Taeyong nodded vaguely at Lucas and Mark— “really look up to you, and I think you should consider that when you encourage them to participate in over the top schemes.” 

Baekhyun had been towering over Taeyong, but as he processed the mindfully phrased advice, Baekhyun sat atop the closed cooler. My gaze shifted nervously from Baekhyun to Taeyong, wondering who might first break the silence, wondering if Taeyong would apologize for speaking his mind. 

The silence was finally broken by Baekhyun. “You know, I’ve never been a leader before. There’s a part of me that wants to believe that I’m doing a good job just because I have the title. There’s a part of me that wants to say that you all should follow me because I’m the oldest. But maybe— you know, I’ve never led a team with unlimited members.” 

Baekhyun smiled at Taeyong and offered him a handshake that was instantly accepted. 

Their agreement was unspoken, but I understood: Baekhyun knew that he could learn from Taeyong’s leadership experience. Baekhyun held the title, and Taeyong respected that, but the success of our group did not depend solely on Baekhyun’s wild schemes or Taeyong’s rational lectures. They— Baekhyun and Taeyong— were two halves of a whole leader. 

The tension between them hadn’t disappeared, and it probably never would. Left unchecked, the tension would have led to dissent; once addressed, it could better our group. This, I realized, was the merit of open communication. 

Bearing this in mind, I wasn’t offended by Kai’s response to Taeyong’s question, “How did you feel when Lei was added to SuperM?” 

Although he was resigned to hating me, Kai seemed reluctant to answer even after taking several sips of the drink passed over by Taeyong. 

“Upset,” was all that Kai said at first. He only added more at Taeyong’s urging. “It’s just— we had something really good between the seven of us. We had something special with our fans. Adding an eighth member feels wrong to me. And adding a girl—”

“Dude,” Ten snarled, “don’t start with that sexist shit, or—”

“It’s okay,” I said, knowing that Ten wouldn’t stand down at anybody else’s request. I smiled to prove that I wasn’t wounded by Kai’s words although my heart was pounding and a blush was rising in hot splotches across my cheeks. 

Kai was entitled to his opinion even if his opinion didn’t favor me, so I met his eyes and said, “Please continue.” 

As if seeing me for the first time, Kai held eye contact with me. “It’s nothing personal. I just— having a girl in the group adds a lot of complications. Everybody’s already gonna be focused on you because you’re new. On top of that, the fans are going to criticize us no matter how we interact with you because you’ll _**never**_ be one of the guys.” 

(I didn’t even want to be one of the guys, but I wheezed at the word _**“never.”**_ )

“Just in this last week of people knowing that you’re in the group, SuperM has been associated with your Lucas dating rumors. And now that you’re in a subunit together, it’s just gonna be the Lei and Lucas show, and that’s not fair after all the work we— all the work I have dedicated to this group.” 

Either to rebel against Kai’s criticisms or to brace me against them, Lucas patted my shoulders. 

Weirdly, though, I didn’t feel upset. My skin was tougher than anybody expected. Besides, I preferred this conversation with Kai to the months of silently avoiding each other. Understanding his grievances against me helped me understand him. Maybe by responding with the same honesty, I could help him understand me. 

I had to try. 

“You might not have been excited to work with me,” I started as Kai passed the bottle to Mark (because, for some reason, Taemin had walked away from the game), “but I was excited by the chance to work with you.” 

Kai’s eyes broke away from Mark and settled on me. This time, his eyes were no longer filled with anger or apprehension; they were soft, warm, kind enough to encourage me to keep speaking authentically. 

“I know you’re probably right.” I shook my head, stomach tightening as I admitted, “No, you’re definitely right. People would rather look at me and guess who I’m kissing behind closed curtains than appreciate how I contribute to the group. They would rather see me as Lucas’s other half than my own person. I hate that too.” I did. **_I hated it. I hated it. I hated it._** “I’m sorry that my presence has affected what you’ve built with the other members, especially because I didn’t want— I don’t want—”

My voice broke as I tried to organize my thoughts. I think everyone assumed I was on the verge of tears because Mark gasped, and Lucas hugged me, and Baekhyun distracted himself by rooting through the cooler again, and Taeyong ran a hand through his hair like he always did when stressed, and Ten glared at Kai, and Kai apologized and crossed the distance between us to envelope me in a bone-crushing embrace. 

“I can’t breathe,” I gasped, and Kai dropped me onto Lucas’s lap. After Kai returned to his seat, and the thick tension in the air dissipated, and Taemin returned wearing a relieved sort of smile, I concluded, “I’m genuinely honored to perform with all of you.”

The boys responded with over-enthusiastic coos (Baekhyun even pretended to faint) before Mark was dared to jump into the lake wearing all of his clothes. 

When he returned shivering, Mark yelled over everyone’s laughter, “Just watch— if I catch a cold, Momager will avenge me!”

“Yeah,” Ten agreed before taking a swig of the drink even though it wasn’t his turn to play yet, “right before she beats your ass for doing such a stupid thing just because Kai dared you!”

I don’t know why they were so fearful of Mom physically attacking them. Mom rarely raised her voice, let alone her fists. Still, when everybody else laughed at Ten’s remark (except poor freezing Mark), I couldn’t help but laugh along. 

“Yo, Lei,” Mark raised his eyebrows at me. 

“Yo, Mark.” 

“Truth or dare?” Mark handed me the bottle. Now that I held it, I caught the strong scent of strawberry. 

It was a sweet strawberry wine. The alcohol barely stung on its way down my throat. “Truth,” I chose, unwilling to leap in the lake or perform any such task. 

Mark took no time to consider a question. I guess he’d had enough time to think of what to ask me; or, more likely, Mark didn’t have to think before speaking. “NCT Dream is, like, your ultimate group, right?” 

No, they weren’t. I never publicly claimed a favorite group, but if I had to choose, it would not have been a difficult choice. 

“I like NCT Dream,” I replied carefully. “Is that the question? To name my ultimate group?”

Mark shook his head, “Nah.” 

I sighed, relieved that I wouldn’t have to admit that SHINee was my ultimate group right in front of Taemin, who observed the game with smiling eyes. 

“Who’s your bias in NCT Dream?” Mark asked, sitting on the edge of his bean bag. 

Lucas groaned and, I imagined, cradled his face in his hands. “I cannot believe that you just got her started on—”

Excited by the sudden turn in the conversation toward my absolute favorite topic, I smiled and sat up as straight as I could. Mark’s hopeful expression should have prompted me to lie— to say that he was my bias— but I enthusiastically confessed, “Obviously, my bias is the love of my life, Na Jaemin!”

Dramatically clutching over his heart, Mark collapsed on his bean bag. 

Baekhyun smirked. “Maybe it was Jaemin’s name you were moaning in your sleep!”

And Taeyong raised a single eyebrow at Baekhyun’s response before focusing on me. “Jaemin? The love of your life is Jaemin? Baby Jaemin?” His reaction was a little ridiculous considering that Jaemin was only about a year and a half younger than me. 

“He’s not looking like such a baby in the comeback promotional pictures!” I patted around my pockets before realizing that I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t even have pockets because I was wearing black polka dotted pajama bottoms. 

I held my hand out for Lucas to give me his phone, and he shook his head when I looked back at him. “No way, Lei, I’m not enabling you to thirst after—” 

“You can use my phone!” Taemin offered, holding his phone up high above his head. Everybody gawked at him because he had been so silent throughout the game, and he chose to speak up about something so silly. 

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been able to look at Taemin for fear that I would never be able to look away. I wouldn’t have been able to speak to him. But to see Jaemin, I could do anything. 

I leaped off of Lucas’s lap despite his laughing protests. Kai moved over to make space for me between himself and Taemin, reasoning, “I want to see the Dream comeback trailers, too,” as Taemin entrusted his phone to my hands. Sitting and setting the bottle of wine on the ground before us, I found the videos on YouTube and watched them with Taemin and Kai. 

“Ah!” Taemin cried, “I can’t believe how tall Jisung is!”

“I know!” I beamed at Taemin’s enthusiasm and comfortably met his gaze for the first time. “No matter how tall he gets, though, I think he’ll always have the cutest baby face. Or at least I hope—”

“Alright!” Baekhyun whined, pounding his fist against the cooler. “I’m bored! Lei, ask somebody to play Truth or Dare! I command you as your leader!”

Taeyong shook his head at Baekhyun’s abuse of power while grinning. 

Taemin held his hand out for the wine, so I gave it to him, asking, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Taemin said into the bottle. 

Because I had been dying to know for what felt like an eternity, I asked, “What do you believe happens if somebody gives you a ribbon?”

“Huh?” Kai’s head quirked curiously. 

Ten asked, “Is that code for something?” and I pictured from his tone that his eyebrows wiggled suggestively. 

Baekhyun wailed, “It’s not a fair question if nobody else knows what you’re talking about!” But I didn’t care much whether it was a fair question. 

Taemin’s face turned a pale pink, and a smile tugged gently at the corner of his lips. He reached a hand into the pocket of his hoodie where I dreamed he kept the ribbon. “I’m not sure, but I hear it has something to do with soulmates.” 

Just like that, I couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. 

As the boys erupted into chaotic screams, and my eyebrows knit together in confusion— heart fluttering at the word _**soulmates**_ as my mind raced to decide whether they were real— Taemin stood to pass the bottle to Ten. 

Ten chose dare, so Taemin dared him to call the seventh person on his recent call log (who happened to be Kun) and sing the chorus of “Love Talk.” Being absolutely shameless, Ten accomplished his task without breaking into the slightest blush. Ten laughed the hardest when Kun said, “You really need to lay off the wine— I can smell your breath from here,” with ‘here’ being the WayV dorms miles away. 

Then, Ten dared Lucas to perform the subunit choreography with me. Initially, I protested because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the members, grumbling, “Why should I have to participate in Lucas’s dare?” But everyone started clapping and chanting, **_“Leicas, Leicas, Leicas,”_** even Taemin and Kai, so I had no choice. 

In the end, Ten’s dare turned out to be a clever scheme. Just seconds into the dance, he claimed, “You’re doing it all wrong!” Ten peeled Lucas off of me so he could place his hands around my waist and joke to Kai, “This is one of the benefits of having a girl in the group, ya know?”

In retribution, Lucas and I slapped at Ten, and Kai kicked at him, but— being so sneaky and elusive— Ten evaded all of our attempts at justice while laughing. 

Once all of us sat down, Lucas dared Baekhyun, “Drop three ice cubes down your pants!”

While the other guys groaned at Lucas’s dare— Mark shrieked, “You take it too far, man!”— Baekhyun challenged, “Only three?” before dumping two overflowing handfuls of ice— retrieved from the cooler— into his black joggers. 

Baekhyun’s resulting screams and the other boys’ laughter blended together in an inhuman cacophony. As Baekhyun reached for the waistband of his pants, I screamed, and Taemin shielded my eyes with his hands. 

The game continued after the Ice Incident, but I have forgotten most of what happened in the aftermath. I’ve heard that stress does strange things to the human mind. However, I can’t forget that when he had the opportunity to ask me anything, Taemin asked, “Who is your ultimate idol?”

Crinkles formed around Ten’s eyes when he laughed. “Didn’t you hear when Lei yelled at me last round for asking who her bias in WayV is?”

Baekhyun said, “She only got mad because she didn’t want to choose between you and Lucas!”

That was partially true, but I would never admit it.

“No,” Kai argued, “she clearly said that she was tired of everyone asking who her biases are after you—” he glared at Baekhyun— “kept pestering her about who she likes in EXO!”

Baekhyun defended his actions by explaining, “I honestly thought that if I went through every subunit, through every era, she would eventually pick me! I didn’t expect it to be all Sehun, Suho, and—” he mimicked my voice— “ ** _‘Baekhyun, my CBX bias is always Xiumin, so quit fishing for compliments!’_** ”

We all laughed at how poorly Baekhyun’s joking tone masked genuine wounded feelings, and he threatened me, “Just wait until Sehun finds out that he’s really your bias after all!” before whipping his phone out of his pocket. 

“Anyway,” I focused my attention on Taemin as well as I could, but it’s impossible to look directly at the sun. “You want to know who my ultimate idol is?”

It wasn’t such a bad question. Being asked who your idol is isn’t the same as being asked who your crush is. My idol was somebody who inspired me with his talent— with his art. I shouldn’t have been afraid to identify him because, in a way, it was almost like introducing myself. 

But nobody ever asked me who my inspiration was before. On talk shows, it was always about who I was dating, or who I was rumored to be dating, or my relationships with Super junior, or my ideal type. Always, in some way or another, people tried to understand me through my relationships with men. Maybe it wouldn’t have been half as frustrating if I were actually allowed to have relationships—

**No.** It was frustrating to never be appreciated on my own merit as a human being. It was always frustrating, even though I rarely admitted it to myself. 

Oblivious to my internal monologue, Taemin nodded, and I took a deep breath. If I kept thinking so hard about it, I would lose all nerve, so I forced myself to reply quickly, “You are.”

The guys— except Taemin, who seemed stunned by my answer— took turns gagging. 

“Oh,” Taeyong teased, raising his eyebrows, “so it’s not the love of your life Na Jaemin?” He had been smug since learning that he was my bias in NCT 127. 

Ten accused, “Lei, I bet your favorite comeback is ‘Move’ or ‘Want.’ You know, one of the really sensual ones, where Taemin moves like this.” Ever the show off, Ten jumped at the opportunity to perform Taemin’s choreography. 

Kai and Mark were in agreement that “Well, those dances are pretty iconic,” but Lucas set the record straight.

“No, you guys got it all wrong. Lei is the kind who likes for a song to kick her right in her emotions, ya know? When she got ‘Want’ for her birthday, she put that ‘Monologue’ song on repeat. Her favorite SHINee song? The hella intense ‘An Encore’ or ‘From Now On.’ I thought she’d never leave her room again when Taemin performed ‘That I Was Once By Your Side’ on TV! I went over to her house three times that week— because, ya know, Mom is the best cook ever— and that song was on nonstop replay, and—”

“Alright!” I picked a marshmallow out of a bag Taemin retrieved from his car and threw it right at Lucas’s big head. “They get it!” And everyone looked at me to confirm Lucas’s claims, so I admitted, “Look— obviously ‘Move’ and ‘Want’ are iconic, okay? But at the end of the day, I like for a song to make me feel something, I don’t know, tear inducing.”

My tone was harsh, biting, and I glared at Lucas because I thought my personal preferences— especially my thing for emotional ballads— were a little too private to be brought up at a game of Truth or Dare. I knew the guys probably didn’t care much or at all about which Taemin songs I liked, but I felt like I (or, rather, Lucas) had shared too many of the pieces of identity I held closest to my heart. 

Taemin ended his silence (which weighted my heart with the fear that he thought I was **weird** ) by saying, “‘An Encore’ is my favorite song too.” 

That was all he said before leaning forward so that his bright toothy smile, which was somehow far more beautiful than the usual polite closed-mouth grin, was an unavoidable display right before my eyes.

“Lucas, it’s cold,” I shivered, hoping that none of the others would overhear my complaint from their tents. I didn’t want to have a reputation for being the high maintenance member even if secretly (not so secretly) I was. 

Lucas rolled over in our blanket fort to pin me under his weight **_again._**

Suffocating, I hissed, “What are you doing? I told you already— stay on your side of the tent!”

“You’re cold,” he mumbled sleepily into my ear, “so obviously I’m warming you up with cuddles!”

Nobody on this planet craved cuddles more than Lucas, I swear. That arrangement— the warmth emanating from his body as he tucked his arm snugly around my waist— would have been perfect, romantic even, if I wanted Lucas that close to me in any version of the universe.

“Get _**off**_ , Lucas!” I struggled in vain to untangle our limbs. It was impossible because he was taller, heavier, and stronger than me. “When I said that I was cold, I was hoping that you would pass me another blanket or—”

Unsympathetically, Lucas hummed, “I guess you should have kept Taemin’s jacket on.” 

It was a cheap shot— trying to stun me into silence by mentioning Taemin— but Lucas wasn’t above committing that kind of foul. 

I retorted, “I guess you should have thrown a travel bag together for me before aiding Baekhyun and Mark in their kidnapping plot—”

“You’re still going on about that?” Lucas huffed as if I would forgive or forget any time soon, especially with the total lack of apology. “Lei, I told you that I packed extra boxers that you can borrow—”

“I am _ **not**_ interested in borrowing your underwear, Lucas!”

Resolving that there was no other option, I forced both of my hands to the parts of his ribs just below his armpits, where I knew he was most ticklish. I basked in triumph as his entire body writhed in laughter, and I could finally muster the strength to push him away in his weakened state. 

Lucas must have packed more than boxers in his duffel bag, I reasoned, and I had crossed most of the distance in our tiny tent to investigate that suspicion when he tackled me into the fluffy blanketed floor. 

“Get ** _off,_** Lucas!” Repeating myself was a waste of breath, but the words tumbled out of my mouth anyway. 

He rolled me onto my back so I could watch his face contort with his maniacal laughter, so he could watch the panic that flashed in my eyes as I realized that I had started a tickle war. My eyes tightened closed, and I held my breath in anticipation of a touch that never happened. 

As if Heaven or Hell intervened either to rescue from Lucas’s insanity or to one-up his chaos, the tent came crashing down around us. I guess Lucas took the blunt of the force because as I struggled to crawl out from under the orange fabric, he screamed something like, “My family jewels!”

That outburst, I think, was the cause of Ten’s and Baekhyun’s identical laughter that I witnessed as I emerged, breathless, from the collapsed tent. 

“Mark wanted to wake you up,” Ten started, and Baekhyun finished, “but we told him that he probably didn’t want to see whatever was going on in that tent.”

Sitting on the hood of his car, Taeyong laughed, but he masked his laughter by pretending to choke on his breakfast bar. 

Ten and Baekhyun, disappointed with my lack of response to their perversion, set to helping Mark untangle the still groaning Lucas from the tent. 

Taemin was standing, leaned against Taeyong’s car, making a face that I thought was a reaction to Ten and Baekhyun’s stupid joke. He looked like he had chewed through a lemon. 

“Lucas and I—” I started to explain that nothing that happened in the tent— well, nothing than Lucas annoying me, as usual— but I stopped when Taemin faced me with a smile. 

Oh. I wanted to slap my forehead. He had been squinting at the over-enthusiastic bright morning sun. Taemin didn’t care about what Lucas and I did or didn’t do. Why would he? 

“Um.” I should have been content to fall to silence, but I couldn’t say nothing with Taemin looking at me like that, like he was excited to hear whatever I had to say. Not wanting to talk about Lucas, I said, “I left your jacket in the tent.” I gestured over my shoulder with a thumb and followed my own gesture to see that Mark, Baekhyun, and Ten were no closer to rescuing Lucas. 

Actually, it looked like they had wrapped him up into something resembling a burrito. Knowing them, that was probably their intention. Jokers, even at the crack of dawn. 

Taemin’s voice claimed my attention. “Don’t worry about it.” 

His hands were shoved into the front pockets of impractically tight black jeans. He had traded last night’s white hoodie for a black one. When his hand carded through his soft blonde— almost brown— hair, I thought he knew that he looked like a character from the pages of a young adult novel or a movie that makes every girl’s heart race. 

But then I saw the blue ribbon, my blue ribbon, tied around his wrist, and I knew that Taemin was up to **_something_** that I didn’t understand or trust. 

“It’s yours, you know.”

I figured that he was talking about the ribbon. For some reason, I felt so embarrassed that, for a split second, I vaguely regretted giving it to him when I barely knew him as anything more than an immaculate figure on stage. For some reason, I glared at him because I couldn’t believe that talk about soulmates, and I couldn’t understand why he should want to be mine— even if it was pretend or convenient or, like Ten said last night while dancing with me, one of the benefits of having a girl in the group. 

Had Taemin been anyone else in the world, I would have barked that I was tired of being everybody’s _**safe**_ crush— the person Lucas could cuddle because the fans shipped it and there were no real feelings involved, the person Mark could pine after shamelessly because I would never let the feelings lead us anywhere, the person Sehun liked to flirt with because there was no risk of slipping into a relationship due to my refusal to date. 

I’m glad I admired Taemin too much to lose my temper; I would have felt stupid for ranting when he said, “The jacket, I mean. The jacket is yours. We made a trade, remember?”

“Oh.” I felt stupid even though my rant hadn’t left the confines of my mind. 

Probably somehow bothered by our conversation— or maybe taking pity on my inability to talk to Taemin like a normal person— Taeyong knocked his knuckles against the hood of his car. “Lei, Kai said that he wants to talk to you before you leave.”

I grinned, relieved that Kai and I had made some progress toward friendship during Truth or Dare. I thought that even if he still hated me, I would have raced to find Kai to distract me from whatever fire Taemin struck in my mind or chest or stomach. 

“Where is he?” I asked.

Taeyong pointed toward the water. Taemin offered to walk me there, and I blurted, “No.”

Taemin winced at my instant rejection, and Taeyong leaped off of his car to oversee the others’ progress in freeing Lucas. 

I had to come up with a quick explanation for Taemin. I couldn’t tell him why I didn’t want him to walk with me even if I understood (and I didn’t), but I also couldn’t leave him sulking by Taeyong’s car.

“I have to apologize,” I decided, and Taemin’s forehead wrinkled. “I feel like I owe Kai a private apology, and if you’re there— well, it won’t be so private then, will it?”

Taemin shrugged, and I knew he didn’t buy my reasoning, but he gave me that polite smile. The closed mouth one. The one I was starting to think was more of a habit than a genuine expression. I stared at him, and he bowed, and that meant it was time for me to leave. 

It’s funny that after rejoicing in having a reason to leave just moments before, I should search so desperately for a reason to stay standing with Taemin. There were no reasons, so I set off toward the water to find Kai while contemplating Taemin’s smile. 

I had no right to crave his authentic expressions, yet I was reeling from receiving such a rehearsed gesture as that tight-lipped grin. I was stupid— for glaring at his ribbon symbolism and then for frowning at the behavior that was perfectly appropriate among colleagues, among acquaintances. This— this is why I didn’t mess with boys. I didn’t understand them, and I never wanted to before, so why did I want to think about Taemin’s smile even though it made me sick, even though it either filled my stomach with butterflies (when it was that bright, full, toothy smile) or tied it in knots (when it was that carefully molded meaningless grin)? 

I forced the thoughts from the forefront of my mind and tried to ignore their nagging in the darker recesses when I sat next to Kai on the edge of a wooden pier. The pie wasn’t that tall, so Kai’s bare feet kissed the water’s surface. I imagined that with a little effort, I could make my feet reach the water, but I was content enough with the breeze breathing on my skin.

“Good morning, Kai,” I greeted. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t there just on Taeyong’s orders; I really wanted to talk to him. 

“Good morning.” 

Kai didn’t look at me directly; he met my eyes in my reflection on the water. He probably didn’t mean anything special by it, but I wanted to think that he was trying to make it easier for me to speak to him. In these past months of working together, he either stared at me, though me, or went to inconvenient lengths to look away from me. This place where we met on the water was a happy medium. It was like meeting halfway. 

“I meant what I said last night,” he said, and I guessed that’s why he told Taeyong that he wanted to talk to me. “And I’m sorry.” 

I nodded. “I know. I meant what I said too.” Not to make my ramblings to Taemin true but because I meant it, I added, “I’m sorry too, Kai.”

He smiled. Such a genuine smile had to be appreciated directly from the source, not through a rippling reflection on the water, so I looked at him. He looked at me. “You don’t have to call me Kai. You can call me Jongin.”

Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal to everyone, but I always felt wary of the difference between a stage name and a birth name. Lei was my name on stage and in life, and I often wondered what it would have been like to have separate names. Would that have made it easier to distinguish **me** (the person) from **me** (the idol)? 

Lucas said that I thought too much when I asked him whether calling him Yukhei or Xuxi would make him my best friend. _**“I’m your best friend no matter what you call me, silly. Don’t ya know a name’s just a name?”**_ He flicked my forehead, unaware that he had expressed a sort of wisdom penned by Shakespeare. (I know Lucas said it didn’t matter, but I feel like I should explain that I ended up calling him Lucas because he laughed at my pronunciations of Yukhei and Xuxi.)

I knew I wouldn’t make a habit of calling Kai by his birth name because I just didn’t know him well enough for it to sound right coming from my mouth. I should have just forced through my discomfort if sharing his name with me was a way to express the desire for friendship— if calling him Jongin was the way to become his friend— so I tried it just once when I said, “Okay, Jongin.” 

That moment I shared with Kai was the happiest I had been since joining SuperM, and it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes before Heechul came running onto the pier, screaming, “I’ve found her, I’ve found her!” His chin length black hair was tousled by the wind, his eyebrows were gathered together as his eyes narrowed at me, and the swollen bags under his eyes were an exhausted purple. Heechul hissed, “What were you thinking, sneaking out like that? You mother and I looked for you all night!”

Ah, so that explained the dark bags under his eyes. I opened my mouth to ask how they finally found us, but Kai’s voice filled the air. “It’s not Lei’s fault. Baekhyun—”

Kai was going to explain that Baekhyun, Lucas, and Mark had kidnapped me from my room. That was the truth, and maybe they deserved to be punished for being so dumb, but I didn’t want them to get in trouble— especially not after I had finally started to fit into the group (at least in part) because of their efforts. 

“Baekhyun talked me into going camping with everyone,” I said as Mom stood at Heechul’s side. They really did look like siblings wearing the same hairstyle and matching tracksuits— bright red— with their hands on their hips as they eyed me suspiciously. “Really! We needed the group bonding, and I didn’t want to interrupt your drama to tell you where I was going, and—” I knew this would push Heechul’s buttons, so I don’t know why I said this unless I wanted to watch his eyes pop out of his head— “I’m 21 years old, so ,technically, I’m allowed—” 

“You are never allowed to give me a heart attack like that! No matter how old you are!” Heechul yelled, so Mom had to be calm even if she didn’t want to be.

“I’m tired.” Her voice was a mumble, and I knew that was my cue to leave. After waving goodbye to Kai on the pier and the other boys on the beach (Their heads were hung in shame at having been caught by Mom and Heechul with the rising of the sun.), I crawled into the backseat of Mom’s SUV. 

Heechul passed out as soon as his head hit the passenger seat’s headrest. Trusting that he wouldn’t hear our conversation, Mom started the car and said, “I know you didn’t sneak out, Lei, and I know that I don’t need to explain how recklessly you all behaved.” She eyed me sternly through the rearview mirror. “You need to think about what it means to be the only girl in a group of boys, and you need to decide what you want your reputation to be before the tour stats tomorrow.” 

In all my life, I had never really been scolded by Mom. It was worse than I could have imagined. Although she turned her eyes away from me quickly— her stare had lasted just a few seconds— the disappointment seemed to linger over me. I couldn’t tell if I had concerned her as a Mom or as a Manager. I couldn’t tell which was worse, and I wanted to say that I was sorry, but my throat felt too tight to speak. 

The pounding of my heart quickened when I noticed it in the space next to me on the back seat: Taemin’s folded denim jacket. I couldn’t wear it with Mom sneaking those glances at me; she would ask where it came from. I couldn’t wear it out in public; it was noticeably too big, and fans would imagine that it had been given to me by a boyfriend. It would only be a matter of time before super fans started tagging me in pictures of Taemin wearing the same jacket. 

What good was having a jacket that I could never wear? It was wasteful. It was a token of a memory I couldn’t quite understand. 

And still, I felt like I would have to thank Taemin at Donghae’s birthday party.

  
  
  



	3. Secrecy

I walked downstairs with the reasons why I shouldn’t be required to attend Donghae’s birthday party pressed on the tip of my tongue. 

**The Reasons:**

  1. I saw Donghae so often that seeing him for a split second at a work party (where he would dash from guest to guest) seemed kind of ridiculous
  2. SuperM was setting out on a world tour at daybreak, and I couldn’t afford to lose hours of sleep. My face was already swollen, drowsy from staying up all night playing Truth or Dare with the guys. 
  3. I was still working on the third reason, but it would probably be something along the lines of “What’s the point in going to a birthday party if I can’t even eat cake because of this stupid diet?”



I didn’t get to voice any of my reasons to convince Mom to let me stay home, though, because I dropped my jaw on the floor when I found her sitting on the living room couch. She was still wearing the red tracksuit she wore when she drove me home from the campsite. She wore a pale green clay mask. 

“What are you doing?” I checked my phone because if Mom was laying around, I must have been mistaken about the time. Nope, the screen said, I was right. “Donghae’s party starts in 30 minutes.” 

She joked, “Oh, you don’t like my outfit?” before registering my unamused expression. “I’m not going, Lei. I’m sick.” She forced the least convincing fake laugh of all time, and I rolled my eyes. How gullible did she think I was? 

“Fine.” I plopped down onto the couch next to her, saying, “Then I’m sick, too.” I didn’t go so far as to fake a cough, but I doubt she would have been convinced even if I had been truly unwell. 

“Oh, no.” Mom kicked me off of the couch with her (mismatched) socked feet. “You used your fake flu excuse to get out of ‘Knowing Bros’—” 

My entire body cringed at the mention of Heechul’s variety show. I loved Heechul, but that show— with great effort, I had managed to have a successful career without appearing on a single episode, and I planned to keep it that way. 

“You need to go to Donghae’s party, anyway.” Mom lectured with facts I already knew well: “He’s never been anything but kind to you, so grab his present off the kitchen table. There’s a car outside waiting for you.”

Just to be clear: I wasn’t trying to weasel out of going to the party because I didn’t want to see Donghae or celebrate his birthday. I never would have said this out loud for fear of sounding like a total freak, but I really, really hated work parties. Although the atmosphere was always uncomfortably formal, even for birthday parties, boys (namely, Sehun) tried to blur the lines in strictly professional relationships. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so bothered. Maybe I should have tried to understand that they were grasping at romance the only ways they could— even if it was a fake, pseudo-romance explored in the shadows of an S.M. banquet hall. But I was bothered, and I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to go.

And, more pressingly, I didn’t want to see Taemin again. Except I did. Just not so soon, and not before I could figure out how to thank him for his jacket. Not before I understood why I wanted him to smile (the real smile) at me. Not before I understood why he wanted my ribbon. 

Wanting to avoid Taemin wasn’t just cowardly; it was impractical, considering that I would have to see him every day for the next few months on our North American tour. I would have to face him sooner or later, talk to him sooner or later, and there was no point in delaying our next conversation. 

I opened my mouth to complain— or least to ask how I was supposed to get home after the party— but Mom had turned her attention back to the paperwork in her lap. Maybe she was genuinely too busy to go to the party, even though it was for work, even though it was hosted on Donghae’s behalf. I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask if she was still avoiding Donghae. 

I felt like the longer I stayed with her, the likelier I was to ask if she was the idol who never debuted. I didn’t see what good could come from asking, so I ran out of the room, grabbed the small wrapped gift from the table, and crawled into the back seat of the company car in the driveway. 

“Damn, Lei,” Lucas whistled when he found me in the corner of the banquet hall where the light didn’t quite reach. “You look good!”

When he tried to pull me into a hug, I swatted him away. “This is why we have dating rumors, Lucas,” I scolded, knowing that he would shrug my concerns away while laughing. 

Lucas’s eternal smile broadened as he teased, “If anyone figures out where Taemin got his bracelet, your dating rumors won’t center around me anymore.”

The only comfort was knowing that even if my blush broke through my makeup, Lucas wouldn’t have been able to see it in the dim lighting. “Stop saying that. There’s nothing like that there.” 

“That’s what you keep saying.” Lucas raised a disposable red cup to his lips, so his next words were muffled. “But that dimple in your chin— the one that only deepens when you lie— says otherwise.”

Cupping a hand over my chin, I hissed, “There is no dimple!” 

Lucas laughed at my reaction, and I realized that he was just messing with me. While these dating rumors were my greatest source of stress, they were just another thing for him to laugh about. I never wanted to be the reason Lucas’s laughter died, so I had to learn to play along. 

This was the issue: Lucas understood my point of view; he just didn’t share it, and I couldn’t force him to. 

Once he realized that I couldn’t force laughter, Lucas tried to get our conversation back on track. “Anyway, you called me over here to talk about Mom and Donghae. Does that mean there are updates?”

I shrugged and shuffled closer to him so I didn’t have to speak louder than absolutely necessary. “I still don’t know why she’s avoiding Donghae, but she didn’t come to the party—”

My attempts at secrecy were thwarted when Lucas repeated, loudly, “She didn’t come to the party?” He clamped a hand over his mouth when I cut my eyes at him. As he should have in the first place, he whispered, “She didn’t come to the party?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, tucking behind my ear a curl that had escaped my bun. “She even faked some kind of illness. She did one of those lame coughs—” Lucas hacked frailly into the sleeve of his shirt— “Yeah, exactly like that. She’s definitely not sick.”

Lucas’s brow furrowed so tightly that I imagined steam might blow out of his ears from over-exerting his brain. “But why? What could Donghae have done?”

Before I could say that I had no idea, a voice spoke from the deeper shadows, “I can find out if you want.” Sehun stepped into the light. 

As I rolled my eyes at the sight of him— the second to last person I wanted to see that evening— Lucas snorted into his drink. 

“What do you say, Lei?” Like a character from a movie— some kind of spy film whose plot I couldn’t quite follow no matter how hard I focused— Sehun offered his hand to me. “I’m close to Donghae. I can ask him what’s going on with him and Momager if you really want to know.” 

I shook my head at the offer. Dropping his hand to his side, sure to slap it against his black dress pants, Sehun drew his eyebrows together curiously as if to ask, _ **“Why do you always reject me?”**_ The words didn’t have to leave his mouth; he asked them frequently enough while making that face— brows arched more than usual, lips pressed in a thin line— that I knew when they were blaring in his mind. 

Unable to bear the silent exchange, Lucas tried to explain to Sehun, “She doesn’t want to owe you any favors, dude.” 

I know it sounds cynical, but Lucas was right. Nobody liked to admit it, but in the entertainment industry, nobody does anything for the sake of accomplishing a good deed. Everybody is always looking to get ahead somehow, usually by performing these little favors, and I never wanted to be involved in anything like that— especially not with boys (like Sehun) who only wanted to see how close I would get to dating them. 

Sehun rolled his eyes at my cynicism like he always did. “How do you know that I’m not offering out of the goodness of my heart, Lei? You know I would do almost anything to make my fans happy.” He smiled at me, and my heart might have fluttered if I harbored the slightest budding feelings for him. As it was, my glare hardened, and I wanted to slap Baekhyun for telling Sehun that he was my bias. 

Shaking my head, I brushed past Sehun to find Donghae. I thought that after wishing him a happy birthday in person, I could have justified leaving the party early.

I wasn’t surprised (just disappointed) that Sehun trailed closely behind, asking, “Why am I your bias, anyway, if you dislike me this much? Is it because of my visuals? That’s it, right? I’m the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.” 

“As a matter of fact,” I rounded on Sehun, frustrated that he grinned at the attention as he held his hands up in mock surrender, “it’s your eyebrows. I like your eyebrows.”

“Oh.” Sehun laughed, leaning against a nearby table. “So this is what we’re doing? We’re listing what we like about each other?”

“No,” I said sternly. 

I knew that the more I resisted, the more he would pursue me. This was a game. I hated it, and I hated that my natural temperament made it drag on forever. 

“I don’t dislike you, Sehun, but when you act like this—”

“Like what?” He smirked. “Like the man of your dreams?”

“Like the total opposite,” I replied maybe a little too harshly. The festivities around us died down as some guests tried to listen to our conversation and even more relocated to carry on joyfully without having to hear us. 

I always felt bad at this part— when I snapped because I felt cornered, and Sehun stood still, staring at the ground like I had drawn blood. If I hurt him, then why did he keep flirting me? If this wasn’t a game, wouldn’t he get tired of rejection? 

If it was a game, it wasn’t fun for me. I didn’t like rejecting Sehun, and I didn’t like that I had to avoid him at events like this, but the fact remained: I wasn’t interested in him like that. I didn’t know how else to tell him. I didn’t like that he made me into this villain— or, worse, this unattainable ideal— just because it made me more interesting to him. 

I wasn’t something to chase: I was a person. Why couldn’t he understand that? Did I really have to explain it to him? 

Sehun met my eyes when he said, “I won’t give up,” for the thousandth time. 

I started to beg him to give up— or to at least stop blurring the lines between fantasy and reality— or to at least outright say that he ** _liked_** me if that was the problem— but I didn’t get the chance. Donghae, Heechul, and Baekhyun crowded around the table, so I swallowed my concerns. 

“Wait a minute.” Heechul’s gaze flickered between me and Sehun. Dimples formed in his cheeks. “This isn’t the boy I usually see you with, Lei!”

Baekhyun laughed. Nudging Heechul, and, cupping around his mouth as if he was divulging a secret, Baekhyun explained, “This is another one of Lei’s suitors. Apparently she and Lucas are ‘just friends,’ much to the fans’ disappointment, and Sehun is ‘just her bias,’ much to Sehun’s disappointment.”

Sehun and I, at least, were united in the simultaneous rolling of our eyes as Baekhyun and Heechul cackled together. 

Sehun promised, “I’ll text you later, Lei,” and stalked away without responding to Baekhyun’s and Heechul’s harmonizing whistles. 

Donghae, who had been shifting uncomfortably since arriving at the table, asked the dreaded question, “Where’s your mom?” while Baekhyun and Heechul were too busy harassing Sehun to notice. 

Whatever he had done to upset Mom must have been an unwitting accident; Donghae smiled at the mere mention of her. For a second— a split second— I hated Mom for sending me into this situation where I had to break Donghae’s smile by answering, “She’s not here. She, um, isn’t feeling well.” 

“What?” Donghae, Heechul, and Baekhyun asked in unison. 

Heechul slipped away from the conversation without arousing Donghae’s or Baekhyun’s attention; their wide eyes were too focused on me to notice anything else. I wondered how mad Heechul would be when he drove to my house just to find Mom sitting (perfectly healthy) on the couch, probably watching episodes of their drama without him. 

“She’s not feeling well?” Donghae repeated. Tiny dimples formed in his chin as he realized, frowning, “She’s never missed one of my parties before. This one year, she came even though she had the flu, and I had to beg her to go home!”

“It’s very unlike her to miss a work event.” The sadness in Baekhyun’s voice was so exaggerated that I met his gaze anxiously. What was he up to? Mock concern flooded his eyes as he said, “She must be really sick, huh, Lei? Coughing and everything?”

 _ **Oh.**_ I realized when the corner of Baekhyun’s lips twitched upward that he overheard my conversation with Lucas. I guess he had already proven through his successful kidnapping plot that he could keep his big mouth shut when he needed too; now, he proved it again by quietly eavesdropping on me and Lucas and using his knowledge to make me squirm. 

**Note: Baekhyun was dangerous not just because he was cute. He was also sneaky.**

Unsure of how to maintain Mom’s lie when Baekhyun knew the truth, I nodded subtly. 

“It’s so weird how health can take such sudden turns for the worst.” Baekhyun shook his head and pounded his fist on the metallic navy blue table cloth. “Momager seemed fine when I talked to her earlier—” he paused to stage a dramatic gasp before asking, “You don’t think we’ll have to postpone the tour, do you? If Momager is sick, how can we leave first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning?” Donghae’s eyes rounded as they looked to me for confirmation. “You’re leaving on tour tomorrow?”

I nodded, and I would have apologized to Donghae— even though I couldn’t explain why I was sorry— but Baekhyun interrupted by asking, “You don’t think she’s faking, do you? Do you think she had a hot date or something?”

Donghae gasped, “What?”

Glaring at Baekhyun, I answered through gritted teeth, “My mother would never prioritize any date over her work obligations.”

I didn’t expect Donghae to react by dropping his gaze somewhere on the table and wheezing, “I’m more than a work obligation, right?” 

**_“Yes, of course, absolutely,”_** I wanted to tell him. ** _“You’re so important to us— to me and to Mom. You are a member of the first group she helped debuted, and you have been such a fixture in our life, and you’ve never been anything but kind and—”_**

 _ **Oh.**_ My stomach tied in knots as I understood why Mom didn’t want to come to the party. The knots tightened as I realized how similar Mom and I were. Neither of us wanted to worry about anything other than performing our jobs well. Neither of us knew how to respond when somebody tried to cross that line between colleague and— I don’t know— boyfriend, so we always ran away. 

**_Oh._** My heart sank as I wondered if I ever made Sehun frown the way Mom made Donghae frown with her mere absence. I doubted it, but the thought was still sickening. Maybe— maybe Mom thought that Donghae wouldn’t notice her absence among all the other party guests, but that misunderstanding didn’t lessen his very real disappointment right before my eyes. Maybe— maybe you don’t have to try to break a heart. 

Baekhyun must have been oblivious to mine and Donghae’s shared discomfort. He rattled on, “Maybe Momager isn’t as virtuous as you, Lei.” Although Donghae and I bore into him with our glares, Baekhyun suggested, lips pressed out in a tiny pout, “Maybe she’s more like the idol who never debuted.”

“This again?” I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes at the ceiling before telling Baekhyun, “I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on believing that my mom is some failed trainee, and I don’t know why you’re stupid or cruel enough to keep saying it right in front of me, but you’re really pissing me off.” 

Storming out of the party after yelling at my leader the night before our world tour was probably the worst thing I had done in my entire career. I knew that even as my pulse sounded angrily in my ears, but I was too angry to swallow my pride and apologize to Baekhyun. 

Maybe I thought that the cool Autumn air outside would soothe my temper and enable me to do what would encourage a peaceful tour with SuperM. Maybe I knew that I wouldn’t return to the party no matter how many hours I wasted under the stars, trying to throw away the feelings I couldn’t express. 

Whatever I thought would come from running from my explosive emotions, I didn’t expect Donghae to find me. I didn’t expect him to say, wearing the same gentle smile as always (as if he hadn’t been frowning just moments before), “Come on. I’ll drive you home if you really don’t want to be here.” 

I stared at him, unable to blink, because those were exactly the words Taemin said by the lake last night before untying my wrists. I stared at him because I was trying to map the similarities between Donghae and Taemin. I couldn’t quite articulate it, but the same thing that made Donghae’s eyes tender made Taemin’s smile brilliant. What was it about them that I couldn’t understand— that I _**wanted**_ to understand?

Had I been thinking clearly, I might have been able to understand. I might have considered that Mom probably didn’t want Donghae near our house; then, I wouldn’t have accepted his offer to drive me home. 

Often, I wonder what would have happened if Donghae hadn’t forced his way past Heechul into the house. I wonder if the truth would have come out some other day— some other way— instead. I wonder if events played out as they should have. I wonder what I could have done differently.

  
  
  



	4. Truth

The fact that Mom and Donghae, during their argument, had forgotten about my presence in my upstairs bedroom was a curse and a blessing. 

It was a curse because (I think) if they considered that I was listening from afar, they wouldn’t have yelled their deepest secrets. Although, I guess I have to understand that their guarded truths were only secrets from my perspective. It was a curse because I didn’t want to know what they had worked so hard to keep between themselves. I know Lucas and I had spent the past few days casually wondering why Mom was avoiding Donghae, but I didn’t really **_want_** to know. I didn’t have any right to know. 

It was a blessing because their focus on each other— away from me— allowed me to slip out of the window undetected. 

I would probably never go so far as to thank Baekhyun, Lucas, and Mark for stealing me from my bedroom the night before, but were it not for them, I wouldn’t have known that the climb down to the back driveway was possible— easy, even. There was no destination in my mind when I started the descent, but once my bare feet touched the cold pavement, I knew where I could find refuge. 

The garden connected my house to the house the other members of SuperM called home until our projects were completed. I guess that since it was technically their garden too, I could have crossed paths with another member on any of the countless nights I walked out there to stroke the roses, and admire the stars, and reach for the moon. I never saw anybody outside, though, so I didn’t expect him to be out there. 

Earlier that night, I thought that Taemin was the last person I wanted to see. Now that I saw him sitting on the bench, holding a flower, I realized that I had been holding my breath, anticipating the sight of him since we parted ways that morning. I (who wore his jacket) felt silly approaching him (who wore my ribbon around his wrist just as Lucas reported— just as I remembered from that morning at the campsite). I felt silly that the ribbon, the symbol that lit me ablaze with rage that morning, should comfort me now. 

“Lei.” Taemin smiled at me. 

I realized when I blinked that the rose he held was broken. It hadn’t wilted, but the still scarlet petals that looked soft to the touch were falling apart. He cradled the flower with both hands as if willing it to mend. I wondered if he knew that it was an impossible hope— the petals were shed forever— but I didn’t want to tell him. I wanted his efforts to succeed. And maybe they would, I dreamed, if I kept my mouth closed. 

“Can I sit with you?” I asked, and he made room for me on the bench. 

When I sat next to him, Taemin seemed to realize that the rose was damaged beyond repair. Sighing, he placed one petal into my palm, and then two, and then three, and he continued until all that remained on the stem was a small bulb. The rose was probably less magnificent than it had been when it held all of its petals, but it looked healthier now. It was still beautiful. Maybe it didn’t need everything it lost. 

“Here you go.” Taemin delicately dropped the flower onto my lap. It matched my ruby-red dress. 

I couldn’t understand why he had given me all of the rose— the broken parts and what little remained intact— so I asked. 

He answered softly, “Because you’re crying.” 

Then, I realized that my face was sticky with tears, and my breaths were shallow, and I was practically leaning against Taemin. Taemin, who looked at me like he knew me even though he didn’t— Taemin, who wore my ribbon where anyone could see, as if it were something to show off— Taemin, who was far more than an idol. He didn’t shift or crumble under my weight, and he didn’t reciprocate the touch like I knew many others would without considering the implications of their actions. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad, I thought, if Taemin were to wrap his arm around me. I wouldn’t have flinched if Taemin reached up to wipe my tears. 

And yet, I didn’t quite crave his touch because his presence alone was calming. We looked up at the moon for what felt like a second and an hour and an eternity, and when I finally told him why I was crying, he seemed surprised that I had filled our silence with words. 

Knowing that my words would never leave our garden, I didn’t make Taemin swear to secrecy before I revealed, “Tonight I found out that Donghae has been in love with my mom for fifteen years, and she probably loves him too, but she always has to reject him because she’s the idol who never debuted, and I—”

My voice caught in my throat like it did when I was talking to Kai on the beach, but this time I was on the verge of tears— I was past the verge of tears because, “I’m what ruined her career. I’m what everyone at S.M. is told to fear when they talk about the idol who never—”

I hiccuped, drowning in my own tears, and that’s when Taemin touched me. He pulled me close and held my head against his chest, where I could feel the steady beating of his heart. He waited patiently until the sobs finished racking through my body. 

I know that I should have been embarrassed by my complete loss of control, but I had not fully cried about any personal emotional injury in my entire 21 years of life. Once the tears started, I didn’t know how to stop crying until all of the tears were expelled. I know that it’s wrong to lean on people (or at least that’s what I always thought), but I don’t know how I would have gotten through that first night of knowing the truth without having Taemin as my anchor. I know that I would have gotten through— I always did— but I don’t know **_how_** , I can’t imagine **_how_** , and I am glad Taemin was there. 

When I thought about it, though, it was like he had always been there. Before, it had been through his music that encouraged my emotional release; that night, it was through his embrace that shielded me from the feelings that threatened to destroy my sense of self. 

Once we were both satisfied that I would be okay— that the tears had finally run out— Taemin let me lift my head from his chest. He let me slink over to my own side of the bench, and we stared at the moon until we caught our breath. 

Then, it was Taemin’s turn to break the silence. “I have watched people— good people— drown in negative self-perceptions. Wrong self-perceptions. I have learned that I can’t make people see what I can see, but I have to tell you, Lei—” 

Taemin wouldn’t continue until I looked at him and fit my hand, still clutching the rose petals, into his. I didn’t hesitate. His skin was warm. 

Squeezing my hand (not hard enough to hurt but hard enough that I could never forget his words), Taemin said, “You didn’t ruin your mom’s career, and you didn’t ruin her relationship with Donghae. You didn’t ruin anything just by existing. You are one of the brightest people at S.M. and in the whole world, so don’t— don’t despair, okay?”

Taemin spoke with such gentle authority that I couldn’t have argued even if I wanted to. 

So many times, I had rolled my eyes or shrugged away when boys said things like, “You’re the best dancer,” or “Your voice is beautiful,” or “You’re my ideal type,” because there was an unspoken expectation that I should say something back. I should return the compliment. I should thank them for their attention. 

Taemin didn’t expect me to say anything in response, though. (What could I have said anyway?) As soon as he finished saying his piece, he stood from the bench and offered me his hand— the one donning the blue ribbon— saying, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late, and we have to leave early tomorrow.” 

To take Taemin’s hand— to hold it as we walked— I had to leave the shed rose petals behind. I don’t know why that made my heart twitch from sadness. What could I have done with a bunch of stray petals? Even the intact rose Taemin gave me would be wilted by the time I returned home from the tour to find it still lying on my vanity. 

Why, then, did I bother rooting through the house for a flower vase once Mom had retired to her room? My behavior made no sense. It made no sense to hope against all reason that Taemin’s rose would be the first in the history of roses to live forever. 

And still, I did.

  
  
  


Although Taemin and I texted until sunrise, we didn’t so much as wave at each other (at first) after boarding the plane. He was deep in conversation with Kai, smiling that bright smile, as I eased into the seat next to Mark. 

Besides, I rationalized as I ignored the urge to look at him just once, I wouldn’t have known what to say to Taemin anyway. It was one thing to talk in the garden (where only we could hear) or via texts (that only we could read); it was another to talk on the plane— at work— even if the only witnesses were the other members and staff. 

“Are you okay, Lei?” Mark broke a chunk from his chocolate bar and pressed it into my palm. “You look a little green.” 

I heard once that chocolate makes people feel a little happier, so I wasted no time in eating the candy. 

“Yeah, Lei.” Baekhyun leaned forward to poke his smiling face between my seat and Mark’s. “Do you think you caught whatever bug kept Momager from Donghae’s birthday party?” Evidently, the apology he delivered through Lucas didn’t promise that he would refrain from annoying me in the future. 

Last night, I lashed out when Baekhyun criticized Mom. That was before I knew her backstory. That was before I couldn’t look at her— who I had looked at every day of my life— without drowning in empathy. 

Now that I knew, now that I was drowning, now that Baekhyun was waiting with mischievously twinkling eyes for a reaction to his (probably well intentioned or, at least, not deliberately malicious) taunting, I couldn’t yell. 

Once looking at Mark and focusing on his concerned gaze, I could barely manage the words, “I’m okay,” as a whisper. 

Before Mark or Baekhyun could pry deeper, Lucas came to the rescue. He grinned as he urged Mark to move, saying, “I need to talk to Lei.” I knew Lucas well enough to understand that he came to discuss last night’s chaos in person. 

“Dude, you need to honor the straw system!” Mark initially refused to give in to Lucas’s demands until he met my pleading eyes. Talking to Lucas always made me feel better, and I think Mark understood that. Always, being a good guy took precedence over his crush. 

Mark huffed as he walked, chocolate bar in hand, to take Lucas’s old seat next to Taeyong, who murmured, “The straw system has been broken for a while,” jabbing a thumb at Taemin and Kai as they giggled like school girls. 

A crimson blush must have tainted my face as I looked at Taemin. I felt it— the heat of some unexplainable embarrassment marking my appearance— as I remembered that rose he gave me, as I imagined that the suddenly deafening pulse in my ears was his heartbeat that I felt when he held me in the garden. 

**_No, this erratic heartbeat could never belong to Taemin._** His heartbeat had been slow, confident, unaffected by my proximity, and mine— mine was sporadic just because of the sight of him, smiling, radiant, and (thankfully) too lost in some other world to notice that I was staring even when Lucas loudly said, “God, Lei, try to be a little discreet!”

And Baekhyun seconded, “Yeah!” while pounding his fists against my seat. 

And Ten plucked an earbud from his ear to ask, “Who’s Lei ogling?”

And, finally, my temper was reborn because I wasn’t admiring Taemin in a way that justified their stupid boyish big-mouthed grins. “Nobody.” I fought to keep my tone even, knowing that Baekhyun and Ten would lose interest as long as my reaction was dull. 

Baekhyun might not have noticed how quickly my eyes averted out the window when Taemin turned to face the commotion. I couldn’t imagine that he would have been able to refrain from shouting, _**“Lei likes Taemin! Lei likes Taemin!”**_ But I couldn’t trust Baekhyun. Maybe he was holding the information in reserve. 

Lucas definitely noticed, though. As the plane took off into the clouds, he dropped his voice to a whisper and asked, “What happened with Taemin?” 

I shouldn’t have been winded by how casually Lucas asked a question whose answer would require a deep probe into my heart. Lucas couldn’t have known the weight of his curiosity; he probably couldn’t have understood even if I endured the discomfort and tried to explain. 

**_“Nothing,”_** I almost lied. 

I almost convinced myself that it wasn’t a lie because probably, surely, that night in the garden wasn’t so special to Taemin. It wasn’t as if his idol braved a storm with him. It wasn’t as if I had tended to his wounds. It wasn’t as if I had become his friend for a moment— just a moment— of profound loneliness. It wasn’t as if I had called him one of the brightest people at S.M. and in the whole world. 

Maybe— maybe he could forget those eternal moments under the moon— and maybe that made them nothing to him. 

But they weren’t nothing to me. Even if they were once in a lifetime— and the nagging voice in the back of my mind that was never wrong told me they almost definitely were— I could never forget. There was this naive, foolish, selfish part of me that thought I could endure it all again— Donghae’s party, Mom and Donghae’s argument, every scattered moment of wanting so desperately (that I could never admit) to be in love— if that led me to Taemin’s embrace in the garden. 

So I couldn’t lie to Lucas, and I couldn’t tell the truth either. Sometimes, I think, the truth is too intimate to share. And that makes me sad because— I always wondered— what happens to the moments we harbor as secrets? 

Stealing a glance back at Baekhyun, shrinking when he winked, I mumbled, “I can’t talk about it here.” 

Had I known that Lucas would drag me by the hand into the tiny bathroom stall, eliciting catcalls from Baekhyun that attracted Taemin’s and Kai’s attention, I might have said something different. 

And I might have yelled at Lucas, **_“This is why we have dating rumors!”_** as he pressed his back against the closed door if he didn’t look at me like that. Like Mark had. Like I was about to be sick or burst into tears. Like he had never been so concerned. 

Was I really so fragile? 

Pulling me into a hug that was much gentler than his usual bone-crushing grip, Lucas asked, “Are you okay?” His voice, usually a shout, was a whisper. “I don’t know what happened. I know that Mom and Donghae had a fight. I know that you suddenly stopped texting me. And now I know that you can’t even look at Taemin, so— just— what happened? Did he hurt you?”

“What? No!” Jarred by the misunderstanding, I flinched out of Lucas’s hold. “No. I just—” I couldn’t tell him about the rose and the moon. I couldn’t. So I said, “I can’t look at Taemin because he is the only person who knows that Mom is the idol who never debuted.” 

Expecting that Lucas would look away, I tore my eyes away from his first— as if that would lessen the blow of knowing his impression of me was changed forever. I didn’t look at him until he asked, voice returning to its normal volume, “Well, how does he know that?” 

Unbelievable. When I looked up at him, he wasn’t stunned. He wasn’t looking at me like I was fragile anymore. His arms were crossed over his chest, head tilted and brows drawn together— the pose he always assumed when gossiping. 

I could have thanked him for being so normal, so himself ,when I felt less like myself than ever, but I didn’t want to make things weird. In the most casual tone I could muster, I answered, “I told him in the garden last night.”

“What was Taemin doing in your garden?”

Before I could explain that the garden wasn’t mine— it was ours— Mom forced the bathroom door open and hissed, “What are you two _**doing**_?”

Oblivious (or indifferent) to how bad this looked, standing close together in this stall, in light of our dating rumors, Lucas grinned as he started, “We were just—” 

Mom held up a hand to silence him. “I don’t even want to know!” She yanked Lucas out of the bathroom and reached for me, faltering (I guess) when she noticed my complexion. I must have been inhumanly pale or inhumanly red. I couldn’t tell. I was numb with emotions. 

Hopefully, she interpreted that as humiliation of being caught in an airplane restroom with Lucas. Hopefully, she didn’t know that I learned from her own mouth that she was the idol who never debuted. 

Would knowing the truth have been so bad if I hadn’t overheard it through our home’s thin walls? If she told me face to face, would I have felt so guilty? 

As Lucas and I did the walk of shame back to our seats, unresponsive to Baekhyun’s enthusiastic cheering, “Take their phones, Momager! Take their _phooooooooones_!” I covered my face, feeling as if the words “ ** _Mom is the idol who never debuted,”_** were tattooed in bold letters across my forehead. 

To Lucas’s horror, Mom held her hands out for us to turn in our phones. He stuttered, “But I need my phone, Mom! What if I get lost in America?”

“You won’t get lost,” Mom responded instantly, but I’m not sure anyone else was as confident in Lucas’s orienteering skills. 

I didn’t meet her eyes as I dropped my phone into her palm. Lucas sulked as he parted with his phone which, I guess, was his prized possession or something. Had he not looked so miserable when he sat back in his seat, I might have popped the back of his head for getting me in trouble in front of everyone. 

As Mom put the phones in her oversized black bag, Taeyong cautiously told me and Lucas, “We were just about to draw straws for our hotel roommates—”

“The straw system is broken!” Mom yelled before throwing the straws into the garbage bin. “Taemin and Kai always end up together, and so do Lucas and Lei!”

Everyone, even Baekhyun, was stunned silent by her outburst. 

Knowing that Mom would never be so angry at me and Lucas, even if we really were a couple, even if we really did sneak off to kiss in a bathroom, I squirmed. This explosive behavior— the frown contorting her scarlet lips, the slight smudge of her eyeliner— was a response to her fight with Donghae. Donghae, who loved her. Donghae, who she must have loved too. 

“You two—” she pointed a manicured finger at me and Lucas— “are on probation. Until further notice, I only want to see you together on stage for your subunit!”

Baekhyun leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “That’s taking LX2’s forbidden love concept a little far, huh?” 

He shot back in his seat, wincing, when Mom scolded, “Be quiet, Baekhyun!”

“You two,” Mom eyed Kai and Taemin, who stared back at her, wearing identical wide-eyed slack-jawed expressions, “are gonna have to separate. Kai, go sit with Lucas. And Lei, come sit with Taemin.”

Careful to avoid making eye contact in case that might prolong Mom’s rage, Kai and I wordlessly obeyed her orders. Taemin, apparently, didn’t think the same way that Kai and I did; he smiled brightly as I sat in the aisle seat. 

“I hope you all like who you’re sitting with,” Mom said shortly, “because that’s who you’ll be rooming with throughout the tour.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if I had been able to find the voice to point out how inappropriate it was for me to room with a boy. Mom stormed back to the portion of the plane reserved for staff as soon as she finished speaking. 

While the others— excluding Lucas, who already understood— discussed Mom’s unusual behavior, Taemin turned to face me. 

For some reason, I thought he was going to scold me for the whole Lucas/bathroom incident. Or maybe I thought he would ask if I was okay, since that was the question of the day; I hoped he wouldn’t because I couldn’t have lied to him. 

He only asked, “Are you cold?”

And there was barely any time to feel surprised at the re-emergence of that question he asked at the campsite before Taemin was draping another fleece lined denim jacket over my shoulders. This jacket was darker, heavier, warmer, and I hoped that its weight would prevent me from wearing it off the plane, where it would be seen by unforgiving eyes. 

Vaguely regretting my decision to leave his first jacket folded on my vanity as my eyes fell on the ribbon still tied around his wrist, I thanked him. I hoped he could feel the depth of my gratitude even though I couldn’t explain it. 

“Are you tired?” He asked, blinking. 

I knew better than to tell the truth: that I had been exhausted before sitting by his side, that I couldn’t sleep with my heart pounding and burning like it was. I shrugged. “A little.” 

“Do you want to listen to music with me?” He offered one half of his earphones. “I won’t be offended if you fall asleep.” 

On the one hand, I appreciated that our in person conversations consisted of Taemin asking questions to ensure my comfort. I was glad that he wouldn’t let us slip into a forever silence just because I didn’t know what to say. And yet, I wished more than anything that I could talk to him as openly (now that he was a real person before my eyes) as I had last night on the phone. 

How long would he be out of reach? Did we have some kind of bond that flourished only under the moon’s guidance? Or— 

_**Stop.** _

_**Live in the present.** _

_**Stop dreaming about the moon just because you can’t feel the sun’s rays.** _

“Yeah.” I took Taemin’s earphone and allowed myself the pleasure of watching his smile grow. “I would love to listen to music with you.” 

I didn’t expect a song to already be playing as I fit the speaker into my ear, and I definitely didn’t expect the voice to be a familiar sound from my childhood. Tiffany, an American singer from the 1980s. An artist Mom played for me when I was first learning to sing. 

“You listen to Tiffany?” I couldn’t bite back my smile. 

“Not usually,” Taemin admitted as a rose color crawled from his neck to shade his bare face. “I watched this program where an idol said that Tiffany was the best performer she had ever seen live, and I wanted to hear her for myself.” 

Mom was the only person I knew who liked Tiffany; that’s why we went to one of her concerts the last time we visited my grandparents’ in Atlanta a year ago. Try to imagine my excitement, then, when I heard that some other idol, and now Taemin, liked Tiffany too. 

“Who—” I started to ask which idol had such impressive taste when I realized from Taemin’s bashful smile that he was talking about _**me**_. He was listening to the music I liked with _**me**_ because he watched some TV show. 

_**Why?** _

Maybe too embarrassed by the silence, and realizing that I wouldn’t break it, Taemin asked, “Which song is your favorite?”

_**Isn’t that a little too personal?** _

Then its piano opening began, and Taemin said, “I think this is my favorite,” although I imagined that he would have preferred one of the more upbeat songs. 

“‘Could’ve Been’ is my favorite, too,” I admitted, suddenly less anxious. 

Smiling, he laid back in his seat. His eyes closed, and I thought he was falling asleep until he opened his eyes, caught me admiring him, and asked, “Can you translate this for me? Please?”

My heart dropped. Could I really explain such a sad song to Taemin? Of course, I knew that “Could’ve Been” wasn’t the first sad song he ever heard, and maybe it wasn’t the saddest either, but I didn’t want to be the mouthpiece for such an emotional message. 

When Taemin poked his bottom lip out, though, I had little choice. So, it turned out, Taemin could use his cuteness as a weapon. And it was especially effective on me. 

“Yeah,” I had to say, “I’ll translate it.” 

He restarted the song, and I translated each line to Korean, keeping up with the music as well as I could. Although I heard the song thousands of times, and I had cried to it throughout my younger years, the lyrics never quite resonated as they did then. 

Maybe it was more upsetting than usual because I couldn’t cry no matter how my lip trembled— not with Taemin looking at me for a translation. Not in this plane full of co-workers. Or maybe my chest was aching because the lyrics reminded me of—

“This is definitely my favorite,” Taemin decided with a smile that seemed to lessen the song’s sting until he started it again. And then again. And then again. 

And I thought that maybe I could predict the lyrics that would come next, and then they would lose their effect. I thought that maybe the words wouldn’t cut so deep this time or the next. I thought that maybe I could have eventually caught my breath until Taemin’s arm brushed against mine as he said, “This part— ‘Still, what could have been is better than what could never be at all’— is the best part.”

He was right. That was the part that cut the deepest. 

I was so eager to escape that song— so eager to stop the bleeding— that I walked off the plane wearing Taemin’s jacket.

  


Even though the song wasn’t playing through my ears, it was playing in my head, so my chest was still tightening. I must have looked unwell even in the hotel because Taemin sat on the foot of my of my bed, hair tied in a small blonde puff atop his head. 

The toothbrush dangling out of his mouth muffled his voice. “Are you okay?” 

I was going to have to get myself together if I wanted that question to end any time soon. 

“I’m just tired from the flight.” My answer wasn’t technically a lie, so why couldn’t I face Taemin? Why did I cast my gaze down to my hands pressed flat against my yellow striped pajama bottoms? 

“I’m sorry if I’m not the best roommate. I’ve never had to share a room with anyone before, and—” He kept moving closer, so I stuttered, “don’t you think you’re sitting too close?” 

“Hm?” Taemin hummed before walking into the bathroom to spit out his mouth of toothpaste. When he returned, he sat on his own bed, blushing. “Sorry. You were just talking so quietly, and—” his voice fell to a sheepish whisper— “after last night, I didn’t think you would mind being close.” 

**_Oh._** So things were different now. It wasn’t just in my head. 

“I don’t mind.” I still couldn’t look at him. “Just warn me next time before you get so close, okay?” 

His soft laughter encouraged me to look at him. Nodding, he promised, “Okay.” 

My heart dropped with a heavy breath when he tugged the tie out of his hair and slid under his blankets. I never would have admitted it to myself, but I must have been hoping that he would sit with me again before the night ended. I must have been disappointed when he asked for permission to turn the light off from his side of the room. 

Suddenly it didn’t matter that I had spent the entire day by his side. Now that we were separated by only a few feet, I was crushed by the weight of the things I hadn’t said. All the things that would have to wait until tomorrow or the next day or sometime in the distant future when I could speak comfortably again. 

Taemin’s voice cut through the darkness. “You don’t have to worry about being a good roommate— whatever that means. You don’t have to worry about anything right now. It’s just us. Every night that we’re together can be like last night in the garden.” 

**_Oh._** So he was still thinking about last night too. Why didn’t that make me smile? Why could I only think of the rose withering on my vanity and cry? 

“But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to or if you just don’t have anything to say to me. I don’t mind. I just really like being around you.” 

Whatever instinct kept me from saying everything I thought and felt— Taemin didn’t have it. It was almost embarrassing to talk to somebody that honest. I wasn’t a liar or anything— except maybe I was. To become what my label wanted, I had to learn what parts of myself to omit. I had to learn what to keep to myself. I had to learn what the public wouldn’t like or appreciate. 

To talk to Taemin, it seemed like I would have to unlearn those lessons. 

Shivering under my blanket, I confessed, “I want to talk to you. I just don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” 

Had I been brave enough to search for his face— had I been able to find him in the dark— what would he have looked like? I still wonder. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. You can say anything you want. Even if it’s like the things you said in the garden—” 

He wanted me to talk like that? Wheezing my insecurities between sobs? I didn’t think I could do that every night and smile for the cameras by day. I knew I couldn’t. 

“I don’t— there shouldn’t be any distance between us.” 

“Why?” I choked, drawing the blankets tighter around myself. “Because you’re wearing my ribbon?”

_**Silence.** _

Then, Taemin offered, “I’ll take it off—”

And before he could even finish the statement, I blurted, “No.” A desperate plea that resulted in more silence. I swallowed the tear-inducing lump in my throat, but it remained, “Please don’t take it off.” 

Maybe I didn’t believe in soulmates, but I wanted to believe. Maybe I didn’t think Taemin could declare himself mine just by marking himself with my ribbon, but I wanted to think he could. 

I really hoped that counted for something. I hoped Taemin could hear that desire in my voice because I didn’t know how to express it plainly with words yet. I didn’t know if I could ever learn to be honest like him. 

“Okay,” he promised, “I won’t.” 

Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t wear his jacket everywhere, so I promised, “I’ll wear your jacket when I can,” and hoped that he smiled even if I couldn’t see it. 

His jackets and the withering rose— those were my only symbols of a bond I couldn’t understand but cherished nonetheless. 

Again, we talked for so long that I can’t remember all the words I swore I could never forget. All I remember in echoing color is that when I told him that I kept imagining his flower dying in my room, Taemin said, “Then I’ll give you more roses, Lei,” as if that were the obvious solution. 

Knowing that he meant well, I frowned. “But that won’t replace the first. I barely even got to admire it before we had to leave.” 

Taemin argued, if you can really call it arguing when his voice was such a delicate whisper, “I would never try to replace the first. That’s impossible. And it’s not the point. I just— I want to give you beautiful things even if they’re not mine to give. And before you ask why—” 

I reddened because that was exactly the question on the tip of my tongue. 

“— I don’t know why. I don’t think it matters why. I think— I _**know**_ that I’m drawn to you, and you shouldn’t be afraid if you’re drawn to me too.” 

I didn’t want to be afraid. I wanted to be comforted by Taemin’s voice as I had been consoled by his embrace in the garden. But I was so afraid— trembling from the fear and the coldness encapsulating the room— that once I watched the sun rise, I tiptoed past Taemin’s snoring form to find Lucas, as if he could change the fact that I was falling face first in love— the kind of love no one ever recovers from— with Taemin.


	5. Shook

  


## Lucas’s POV

I was betrayed. 

On the plane, Kai was my friend. Or at least he acted like he was. 

After Mom stormed off, and Baekhyun started whining about his hurt feelings, Kai gave me some gummies from his travel bag. Everyone knows fruit flavored snacks are the way into my heart. 

Then he let me listen to music on his phone. Everyone knows I love listening to music. 

Then we laughed at Mark when he fell on his way to the bathroom. Everyone knows I love laughing at Mark.

Life was good. I didn’t know that Kai was laying a trap that would spring the minute we were alone in the hotel room. 

“Do you like Lei?” He asked after closing the door. 

I hadn’t even changed into my SpongeBob pajamas, and I was already answering that old question. The answer never changed, but people kept asking. “No.” 

I walked past him and belly-flopped onto my bed. The pillows were so soft, and I was so tired, I decided to take a nap without changing out of my jeans. I closed my eyes, started to drift off, and—

Kai jabbed me in the side with his index finger, and I flinched so hard that I banged my head against the wall. 

“Cut it out in there!” Taeyong barked from his room. I heard him loud and clear. The walls must have been thin. 

I shrieked, “Ow!” but Kai didn’t apologize. He was glaring at me, I realized while rubbing the swelling injury on the back of my head, because he thought I actually ** _liked_** Lei. 

Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “Why do you care?” I was kinda kidding when I asked, “Do you like Lei?”

“What?” Kai’s face darkened in anger, disgust, or both. “No!”

I gasped as I sat upright. “You do!” My jaw fell open. “Why else would you respond so passionately? You know what they say— there’s a fine line between hatred and love— and you’ve always hated Lei!”

He said, “I don’t hate Lei.” 

And I was like, “ **Ooooooooh**!”

He rolled his eyes and added, “I don’t love her either!” And when that didn’t shut me up, he asked, “Why were you all huddled up in the bathroom if you don’t like her?”

I bit my tongue. How much was I allowed to tell Kai? Obviously, I couldn’t have said any of that junk about Mom actually being the idol who never debuted. I couldn’t mention that stuff about Mom and Donghae’s fifteen years of “unrequited” (totally requited) love. Or else, Lei would probably kill me. 

“We were just talking.” 

I knew he probably wouldn’t accept that answer, and he would ask for details that I wouldn’t give. But my friendship with Lei wasn’t any of his business anyway, so I crossed my arms and didn’t say anything until Kai guessed, “Were you talking about her moment with Taemin in the garden?” 

Nodding, I went with that. “Yep.” 

“Great.” He threw his hands up in the air. “So they’re both hung up on it.”  
I realized then that there was more to their late-night conversation than Lei told me before Mom barged in and jumped to totally perverted conclusions. 

Lei probably wouldn’t have told me more even if we had all the time and privacy in the world. I wasn’t hurt exactly. Just jealous that Kai’s best friend had obviously told him more than mine told me. 

I understood that Lei was all shy and secretive about boys. That was her right or whatever. But it sucked that she was secretive even with me— her best friend— as if I were a psycho “fan” or two-faced reporter. 

Of course, I never pressed the issue. I didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable or defensive. Didn’t want to put more pressures or burdens on her shoulders. Didn’t really want to talk about kissing and feelings and all that with her because she was like my little sister, but still. She deserved someone to talk to. And I would’ve tried to be that person for her. But she never asked me, and I guess I kinda wished she would. 

My head hurt from thinking so much. 

“Oh.” I leaned against my headboard. “So Taemin’s talking about it too?” Because Kai was pouting, I pouted and hoped that he wouldn’t realize that I didn’t really know what it was. 

“Yes!” Kai crashed onto his bed. “Apparently because she gave him some ribbon, and he gave her some rose, and they texted all night after staring at the moon, Taemin thinks they’re soulmates!”

**I was shook.**

Yeah, I overheard Taemin say that stuff about ribbons and soulmates when we went camping. And I liked to tease lei for her obvious crush on Taemin. But I honestly didn’t know there were real feelings there. 

To tell you the truth, I felt like a big stinking pile of crap for joking about something that actually mattered to Taemin and Lei. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know. It didn’t matter that I didn’t get it. I was sorry. 

“Well,” I shrugged, “maybe they are.” 

Kai started ranting about how irresponsible it was for idols to date, how it could end badly for Taemin and Lei and everyone in the group. He probably thought I was zoning out because I was too dumb to get it or something. But that wasn’t why I blocked him out. 

In my head, I knew that Kai was right about a lot of things. He knew more about the industry. In my heart, I knew that Taemin and Lei deserved to be happy. Maybe they could have been happy together, I thought. And, in my head and heart, I knew that Lei already understood everything Kai said. 

If I knew Lei— and I promise I did— I knew she was laying in her bed trembling with anxiety. She was probably too stressed about unfair garbage that came with our job to feel happy that Taemin— her idol— and, more importantly, a good person— recognized that she was a ray of sunlight even if she didn’t feel like one. 

Kai wasn’t trying to be a jerk or a party pooper or anything. Maybe I should have listened to him. But I decided as I laid there smiling because I could just feel that Lei was going to end up in love with Taemin— TAEMIN— that I wouldn’t bother her with all those real-world worries. I would nudge her toward happiness any way I could, every chance I got. 

So I was excited when Lei knocked on my door at daybreak. I was so excited to report that Kai said Taemin liked her that I opened the door wearing nothing but my SpongeBob pajama pants. In hindsight, I guess I understand why we had so many dating rumors. Oops. 

“Dude, Lei!” I cheered. Then, I noticed she was upset. In the face, she looked like a sad toddler, and her hair looked like a bird’s nest. “You look like a mess.” I pulled her into the room and tried to smooth her hair. 

It was hopeless. I can’t say this enough: she looked terrible. 

She moped, “That’s good because I feel like a mess.” 

I expected her to scold me when she saw I wasn’t wearing a shirt, but she didn’t. She just said, “It’s really hot in your room. Mine is freezing.” 

“Well,” I sincerely suggested, “why don’t you get Taemin to hold you? I’m sure you’d only have to ask once, and—”

Lei wheezed, “I can’t stay in a room with Taemin. That’s why I came to find you. We have to swap roommates or something.”

Oh. I knew Lei was modest, but I kinda expected her to be thrilled to share a room with Taemin. Had something happened? Did love always end so soon? Was Kai right— were things already ending badly? Before our first concert?

“I don’t know what you want me to do.” I scratched my neck helplessly. “We’re not even supposed to be talking right now, and—”

From his bed, Kai groaned, “What’s going on over there?”

Lei ushered me closer to the door— further from Kai— as she whispered, “We’re gonna have to ask Kai to swap. Or I’ll go sleep in the van. Or maybe Mark—”

“Lei, chill out for a second.” I grabbed her arms to assure her that everything was okay. There was no reason to talk so fast or resort to sleeping in a car or in a room with Mark. “What happened? Did Taemin do something or—”

“I didn’t get any sleep, and I don’t understand _**why**_ I couldn’t fall asleep when he did. I just laid there, freezing, and I thought about him, and I felt so _**sad**_ for no reason, and—”

Thank God somebody knocked on the door and interrupted Lei’s monologue. I didn’t even know where to start unpacking it, and I realized I wouldn’t have to when Taemin’s voice came through the door. 

“Jongin! Lei’s missing, and—”

When Taemin first tried to open the door, I panicked because Lei still looked like a wreck. I screamed. My scream made Lei scream. And Lei’s scream made Taemin scream and slam the door on his foot. I think it would have been pretty funny if I wasn’t too busy trying (and failing) to fix Lei’s hair to laugh. 

The second time Taemin opened the door, Lei and I yelled, “Don’t look!” I grabbed the hat I wore on the plane and forced it over her bushy hair, she positioned herself to cover my exposed chest, and Taemin dropped his jaw as he looked at us with wide eyes. 

This time, I instantly knew how bad Lei and I looked together. 

Maybe he wouldn’t admit it— or maybe he would if he liked Lei half as much as Kai feared— but I knew Taemin was gnawing on his lips like that because he was jealous. Jealous and hurt. 

I pushed Lei off of me, and Taemin quietly beckoned her into the hall. 

Even though nothing happened, I felt bad about the misunderstanding. Still, I didn’t doubt that they would work things out when Lei followed Taemin into the hall. 

Things always work out for people who are meant to be together. 

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Could've Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless otherwise stated, assume that chapters are written from Lei's perspective.

Taemin’s grip on my hand was gentle despite the tense muscles protruding along his jaw. 

Even when we were alone in our room again, and he dropped my hand to sit on the corner of his bed to eye me with something like pain in his eyes, I didn’t ask what was wrong. Even if I didn’t fully understand, I knew. 

“What’s going on with you and Lucas?” Taemin phrased the question as casually as he could, but he didn’t get that sharp, cutting look out of his eyes. Maybe he couldn’t. 

Too stiff with the fear that he might look at me like that forever to sit on my bed, I shifted from one foot to the other. How many times had I denied that rumor with the roll of my eyes? I couldn’t even count the instances— they were everyday occurrences— and yet I was stunned speechless when Taemin looked to me for the same answer I gave every time. 

That was the worst part of liking Taemin: always being rendered speechless from a single glance. 

Had his tone been harsher, or had he not sighed like I had stolen his breath in the cruelest way, I might have snapped that it was none of his business whether Lucas and I were friends of lovers— although, looking back, I understand that my romantic life was everybody’s business. 

But Taemin’s tone wasn’t harsh, He did wheeze and fix his gaze on the ribbon on his wrist. And I understood that although nothing happened, I hurt him. And although I meant no harm, I was sorry. 

“Nothing,” I told the truth quietly. 

It always bothered me when people didn’t believe me, but I was never as nauseated as when Taemin doubted me. A frown pulled his lips taut, and he used my name as if it were an instrument to compel me toward deeper honesty. 

“Lei.” He looked up at me. “I can’t keep your secrets unless you trust me with them. If you’re dating Lucas, I can help you see him while you’re grounded—”

“No!”

Taemin’s eyes rounded, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. 

There was no way to distract myself from the racing of my heart or the fact that Taemin was watching me so intently— so curiously— and yet I thought that pacing would busy my mind. I didn’t want to admit it, but honesty was the only way out of this confrontation, and I would have to pry deeper than the common truth that I wasn’t dating Lucas. 

“I’m not dating Lucas. And I don’t like him like that. I like you.” 

Taemin’s blinding smile stopped me in my tracks— stopped the pacing— but it did little to calm my heart. 

His only response was, “Oh,” as he beamed like he hadn’t been angry or otherwise hurt just moments before. 

Taemin didn’t ask me to explain why I had been in Lucas’s room first thing in the morning, but I did anyway. Comfortable enough to sit on my bed, but never comfortable enough to watch as I wiped the smile from his face, I said, “I went to ask Lucas to swap roommates with me.” 

“What?” Taemin crossed the distance between us and sat by my side, probably thinking that sudden proximity would inspire me to look at him. He adopted an almost childlike tone to ask, “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

I shook my head. 

I must have been so confusing to Taemin. One minute, he found me face to face with a shirtless Lucas; then, he heard me confess to liking him (which I guess is a big deal even though it had always been obvious); and now he had to respond to my admission that I wanted— no, needed— another roommate.

“No.” I laced my cold hands together and stared at where they rested on my lap. “I just— I can’t sleep when you’re so close. Or maybe the problem is that you’re so far away. And—” I couldn’t stand the sound of my voice saying this stuff, even if it was true— “ah! This is so embarrassing!”

The second I buried my face in my hands, Taemin promised, “It’s okay. It’s not embarrassing, so just—” 

He knelt on the floor, grabbed around my wrists, and pried my hands away so I could meet his eyes. They were smiling. Almost always smiling. 

“— look at me. I’m not embarrassed, so you shouldn’t be embarrassed either.” 

Although I thought Taemin was never appropriately embarrassed by anything— he was shameless— I nodded despite the numb blush staining my face. 

Here’s the problem with honesty: once you start telling the truth, you can’t stop. 

I rambled, “I stayed up all night because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

It was mortifying enough that I said that out loud before Taemin laughed with absolutely no restraint. I threw myself down on the bed and hid my face in a pillow, never in a million years imagining that Taemin would be bold enough to squeeze into the small space between my body and the edge of the bed, wrap an arm around my waist, and whisper in my ear, “We can sleep together if you want.” 

Gasping, I rolled onto my back and swatted at him. Instantly, I regretted my instinct; even if he was being a brat, I never wanted to hurt Taemin. 

Thankfully, he wasn’t too offended. He laughed harder and tightened his hold around me so he wouldn’t fall onto the floor. He smiled that authentic smile that made me think— maybe— he wasn’t joking and — maybe— he wasn’t being a pervert. 

“What do you think, Lei? Do you think you could sleep like this?” 

**_“No,”_** I would have said if Taeyong didn’t interrupt with his knock on the door, **_“I could not sleep like this. Can’t you feel how fast my heart is beating? You’ll kill me.”_**

Except I probably couldn’t have said anything even if given the chance. Even if I could have spoken, I wouldn’t have heard my frail voice over the thundering pulse in my ears. 

Before Taeyong opened the door, Taemin jumped out of my bed and raced to meet him. As if he hadn’t just been teasing me, Taemin donned that polite smile and asked, “Do you want to come in?” 

Once I caught my breath, I sat on the edge of my bed. I waved at Taeyong and watched as he shook his head in response to Taemin’s question. He rubbed sleepily at his eyes and said, “No, thanks. I just came to tell you two that we have to leave early. We’re supposed to get down to the van, like, now.” 

As I scrambled off the bed to change out of my pajamas, I tossed Lucas’s hat off. As soon as I caught sight of myself in the mirror, though, I dove for the hat and put it back on because— yikes— it was going to take a miracle stylist to fix the bird’s nest on my head. 

When Taemin promised Taeyong that we would be downstairs in five minutes or less, I mistakenly thought he was done teasing me. I thought the business day had started, and that meant that all this talk about liking each other— all the talk about ribbons and roses— would resume with the rising of the moon. 

I didn’t realize how wrong I was until we squeezed into the too-small bathroom to brush our teeth side by side. In the mirror, his smiling eyes met mine, which were swollen from two consecutive nights of little sleep. 

My eyebrows knit together. “What?” 

“Nothing.” He spat into the sink. But it wasn’t nothing. “I’m just thinking about how I’ll get to hold you after the concert.” 

I choked on my mouthful of toothpaste as Taemin brushed by me, giggling like a little boy on his way out of the bathroom. Was this how things were going to be every day of the tour? He was going to take every chance to tease me? 

When I walked back into the room and started rooting through my suitcase for the oversized hoodie I packed specifically to wear on the way to and from venues, I was careful to conceal my blush. 

I said, “I never said I would sleep with you, Taemin,” but he didn’t respond. 

Because the hoodie was nowhere in my bag, I started looking on and around the bed, never expecting that I would find it when Taemin, from his place by the door, cleared his throat to hurry me along. 

The gray hoodie looked a lot different on him, I guess, because he was taller and more muscular than I was. 

“Taemin!” I scolded, running to his side as if seeing him up close would disprove the reality that he was wearing my hoodie. “You can’t take my clothes!”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, held out his dark blue jacket— the one he gave me on the plane— and waved it around until I took it into my arms. “This is what roommates do, Lei. They share their clothes.” 

When he strutted into the hallway, he must have assumed that I wouldn’t carry on the conversation where anyone could hear. He must not have expected me to double my pace to catch up, clutching his jacket in my crossed arms as I hissed, “We can’t do this. The others will misunderstand, and the fans—” 

My voice crumbled when he rounded on me. He stifled giggles as if he had just conceived the funniest joke and raised a single eyebrow. “Is it really a misunderstanding if I like you and you like me?”

Always unsure of what to say, I blinked at Taemin’s nerve. My voice was a barely audible whisper. “It’s not right to knowingly fuel dating rumors when we aren’t even dating.” 

Then, like we weren’t standing in a hall of a populated building, Taemin stopped laughing and asked, “Do you want to, though? Do you want to date me?” 

He sounded very much like Sehun. 

And I wheezed, thinking that he was really ruining this whole thing— this whole experience of falling in love with him when nobody was watching— until he made this goofy winking face. 

You would have to see it to understand why I couldn’t look at him for the rest of the night without breaking into fits of laughter. And I don’t think you can ever see it because it was one of those once in a lifetime things. I’m sorry.

  


I had just walked out of the bathroom, muscles sore from the concert and hair dripping from a shower, when Taemin held his phone out to me with the simple explanation, “Sehun wants to talk to you.”

“Sehun?” 

My forehead wrinkled as I read the text on Taemin’s screen and wondered how Sehun had worked out this way to contact me while my phone was confiscated. I shouldn’t have been surprised; I never could escape Sehun’s reach. 

Still, we rarely talked between company events. I always guessed that he stopped liking me after each most recent rejection, but maybe he just had to work up the nerve or desire to talk to me again. 

I guess if I’m honest, I would admit that I was concerned about Sehun. I would admit that I was sick from guilt every time I thought about how I talked to him at Donghae’s party. I would admit that all that kept me from texting paragraphs of apologies (before Mom took my phone) was the fact that he would misunderstand.

Maybe this doesn’t make sense, but often all that kept me from talking to Sehun was the fear that he would willfully misinterpret my intentions. It was sad, really, when I thought about the fact that maybe, in some other universe, we could have been friends like I wanted – like we once were. Or maybe, in some other universe, we could have been lovers like he wanted– like I probably once dreamed. 

**Could’ve Been.**

Taemin really ruined my mind with that song. 

I think I felt so sad those days because I was mourning all the things I could’ve been if I wasn’t an idol. I could’ve been free to hug Lucas and tell him how adorable he was (although he already knew) and laugh as hard as I wanted when he ruffled my hair. 

I could’ve been free to go to the movies with Sehun as he we did during trainee days, and maybe then the feelings he wanted me to have could’ve blossomed, unaffected by my suffocating fear of being involved in a scandal. 

I could’ve been free to act on that desire to kiss Taemin’s lips and see if that would ease the ache in my chest that had always been there, that I just couldn’t ignore anymore after that night in the garden. 

I know these thoughts are useless, and that’s why I didn’t say them out loud— not to Lucas, definitely not to Sehun, not to Taemin (who swore he wanted to hear my thoughts), and not even to Mom (who probably knew the sting of _**could’ve been**_ better than anyone I ever knew). 

Did I think those thoughts would leave my mind if I didn’t give them my voice? That hope was probably the catalyst for my silence more than the pressure to be the perfect idol who only smiles. That kind of silence doesn’t work, though, if you need someone to tell you. That kind of silence never made me happier; it built walls between myself and others, and I didn’t know how to take the walls down until I broke down like I did in the garden. 

I didn’t want to be **lonely** anymore, and I think that’s why I couldn’t keep myself from falling in love with Taemin despite my fear of all the things I knew I shouldn’t think, feel, do, or say. 

“Yep.” Taemin’s voice brought me back to reality as he walked by, carrying his pajamas into the bathroom. “In case you don’t know, Kai said that Sehun likes you.” 

Driven only by the urge to look at him— this person whom I wanted to see me as I was— I looked into the bathroom to find that Taemin was leaning against the door frame, studying my expression. His stare wasn’t necessarily disapproving or in any way judgmental— just curious— but I squirmed anyway. 

I asked, “Is this the part where I remind you that I like you?” This time, I didn’t stutter or hide my face after admitting my feelings. 

Maybe Taemin didn’t realize that he was looking at me. A blush broke out across his face as he shook his head. “No— no, I remember. You don’t have to remind me every time a boy wants to talk to you.” 

He smiled, flashing his shining teeth, before closing the door. And I didn’t realize until he was out of sight that I wasn’t ready to stop talking to him.

  


Taemin took the longest shower in the history of mankind. I was about to give up on waiting for him to walk to Lucas’s room when, finally, he walked out of the steaming bathroom wearing sky blue pajamas and a towel on his head. 

Maybe he would have teased me for staring and (obviously) thinking that he was much more beautiful as a real life person than as an idol had I not stunned him by jumping off of my bed and into my slippers. 

“We have to go to Lucas and Kai’s room.” I returned his phone, assuming that he would read the messages and understand, but he only dropped the phone into his pocket. He furrowed his brow, and I had to explain, “Sehun said that Baekhyun is trying to find out what’s going on with Mom and Donghae because, somehow, he thinks he can use the information to blackmail Mom into being EXO’s manager.”

Taemin’s confusion deepened at the explanation as he tugged the towel off of his head. “What?”

“Clearly,” I stifled my giggles at Taemin’s expression, “the plan only makes sense in Baekhyun’s twisted brain. Still, I won’t be able to sleep until I tell Lucas—”

Somehow rational despite his bewilderment, Taemin sat on his bed, pulled socks over his feet, and asked, “But why do you have to tell Lucas? It’s not like he can do anything to control Baekhyun— none of us can!”

“That’s not the point.” I walked over to the door, rested my hand on the handle, and tried to explain, “When I’m uncomfortable about something— like Baekhyun threatening to learn my mom’s secrets to weaponize them— I have to tell Lucas because he’s my best friend.” 

Taemin blinked, not quite comprehending, as he walked to my side, so I asked, “How would you feel if you couldn’t tell Kai about something troubling as soon as it happened?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. So I understand why you want to tell Lucas, but do we really have to walk over to his room at this hour?” 

_**We.** _

Why had I complicated matters by waiting for Taemin instead of tiptoeing to Lucas’s room alone like I had that morning? I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought at all. Waiting for Taemin came naturally. 

I opened my mouth to tell Taemin that he was right— he didn’t have to escort me anywhere— he didn’t have to help me break Mom’s rule forbidding me from talking to Lucas outside of performances— but I bit my tongue when he pulled his phone from his pocket. 

“We should just text Jongin from the comfort of our own room,” he suggested, “and he can share his phone with Lucas.”

_**We.** _

Why was that word taking my breath away? 

I shook my head like that would shake the blush from my face. Bringing Kai into this was the last thing I wanted to do. What if he was involved with Baekhyun’s scheme? It seemed unlikely, but I didn’t know what was going on with EXO; maybe they were desperate. How would he react if he learned that Mom was the idol who never debuted? Would that apprehensive, disapproving shadow return to his eyes the next time he looked at me? 

Sensing my discomfort even when I didn’t voice it, Taemin tossed his phone onto my bed and offered a smile that promised, “Jongin won’t tell anyone, and he won’t think less of you, or your mom, or Donghae. You don’t have to text him if you don’t want to— we can walk down to their room— but I don’t think we should talk about these secrets out loud where others could hear.” 

Objectively, it was smarter to borrow Taemin’s trust in Kai than risk being caught by Mom or other members on our walk down the hall to discuss secrets that weren’t even ours. It was smarter to borrow Taemin’s phone than try to find a moment alone with Lucas to discuss private matters where others could overhear and misinterpret as they always did. 

“Okay.” After grabbing Taemin’s phone from the foot of my bed, I sat with my back against a tower of pillows piled by the headboard. Somehow, probably because of the word ‘ _ **we**_ ,’ I believed that Taemin would follow. 

Instead, Taemin crawled into his own bed light-years away. I probably should have let him. I probably should have learned to accept the distance. But I didn’t. 

Maybe he didn’t know that I wanted to be close to him. Maybe I hadn’t made that desire clear enough. Maybe he wanted to hear me ask, voice wavering, “What ever happened to your promise to hold me after the concert, Taemin?”

Maybe he wanted to see the blush that accompanied my true smile when he climbed into that space next to me— the space he filled that morning, the place I hoped he would fill every night for the rest of the tour, the place I hoped he would never leave— while promising, “I’m here. Go on and text Jongin.” 

I wouldn’t have known what to say to Kai even if Taemin wasn’t distracting me just by existing nearby. Unable to avoid his gaze, I pressed the phone into Taemin’s hand and admitted, “I don’t know how to talk to Kai.” 

And Taemin laughed the same unrestrained laugh from that morning as he laid his head on my shoulder and texted Kai on my behalf. After that, I can’t remember holding my own heart ever again.

  
  
  
  



	7. Love

Laying with Taemin should have been uncomfortable because a) I always slept alone, b) I had never been so (willfully) close to another person, and c) we hadn’t known each other long enough to justify my wish to stay so close forever.

When I pointed out in a whisper that we had only shared our first genuine conversation under the moon a few nights ago, I saw the outline of Taemin’s frown in the dark. His voice created small vibrations in his chest (where my head laid over his sky blue pajama shirt) when he asked, “Do you think I’ll have to love you for years before my feelings count?” 

As evidenced by the ragged breath that fell from his mouth, I hurt Taemin’s feelings without even trying. All that kept me from apologizing immediately was the fear that whatever I said might deepen his frown; so, instead of speaking, I felt around for his hand, pressed my freezing palm against his— warm— and threaded our fingers. 

“I really want to know what you think, Lei.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. 

What **_did_** I think? 

People rarely asked me, yet I tended to overthink my position on a given issue until I had exhausted every possible opinion. Maybe I was preparing for the occasion that never came— when somebody other than Lucas may value my outlook— until Taemin decided to wear my ribbon. 

Although I had thought of little other than Taemin since that night in the garden— or maybe it started that night by the lake— I had no concrete thoughts. That’s why I stuttered, “I— I don’t know. I want you to love me or like me—” 

Taemin said, “I do,” and I imagine that should have been the happiest moment of my life. 

So why wasn’t it? Why did that ache in my chest return? Why did I long for him as if he were worlds away when I was in his arms? When would this— our bond— feel real? 

“Then I want to believe you when you say that—” I didn’t pause to consider that I sounded like I was calling Taemin a liar— “but it sounds too good to be true.” 

Taemin must have realized that there was nothing he could say. We were at another impasse. Silence fell over us, and I didn’t want it to stay, so I spoke through the discomfort. 

“You have to understand who you are to me, Taemin.” Calling him an idol— stripping him of his humanity in such an intimate setting— was the worst thing to do. 

Tracing my thumb along his knuckles, trying to feel that he was real, I carefully continued, “You are somebody I’ve admired for years. Yours is a voice I cherished long before you had anything to say to me. I loved you before I met you, and—” I hoped he wouldn’t think less of me for believing, “the problem with dreams coming true is that you always wake up or the dream becomes a nightmare.”

Taemin must have been shocked by my honesty. Seconds or hours or eternities passed quietly before he said, “I think that you should learn to enjoy dreams— if that’s what we are— as they happen. I think you can ruin the night if you spend the time worrying about what could happen when the sun rises.” 

Of course, it occurred to me before that worrying achieves nothing. On some level, I always knew that I could benefit from learning to live in the moment— finding that balance between being a successful idol and being a happy person. Yet, it was as if Taemin had turned on the light with his gentle warnings that were always prefaced by the phrase, “I think,” because he was too humble to boast, “I know.” 

I already decided that I didn’t want to be lonely. 

Then, as silence fell again, I decided that I didn’t want to be incapable of appreciating beauty until it had faded out of my grasp. That’s why I lifted my head from Taemin’s chest: I wanted to admire him. I wanted to really see him clearly. 

I didn’t expect that he would be looking at me as if patiently waiting for me to return his gaze. 

Before I could sort through my thoughts, I was saying his name. “Taemin, I just really want you to be here when the sun rises.” 

If he was as shocked by the mid-night declaration as I was, he certainly didn’t show it with that radiant smile. “Okay,” was all he said before holding my head against his chest where I heard it: his heart was soaring, racing, beating for me like mine was for him.

##  **. . .**

Interviews— although often uncomfortable— were never as unbearable as a solo artist as they were as a member of SuperM. Part of the issue was that, without my phone, I couldn’t scroll through social media to educate myself on the popular topics of gossip. 

It wasn’t so shocking when the first interviewer asked if Lucas and I were a couple. That question had been following us for years and (I guessed) the rumors about our supposed undying love were amplified by LX2’s existence. 

I was winded, however, when the rumors started to stray from Lucas. Almost daily, in my place between Ten and Mark (or English line, as the fans called us, since our knowledge of the language facilitated the American interviews), I sat with my hands clenched into tight pale fists, jaw set, as I waited to discover which member I was alleged to be sleeping with this time. 

The interview started, as they usually do, with a relatively unoffensive question: “Who from Korea do you keep in touch with while you’re on tour?”

The host was a middle-aged man— bearded and wearing glasses and a t-shirt— who twitched with every frequent sip from his coffee mug. He listened with feigned interest to the other members who answered with some variation of the fact that they stayed in contact with the members of their individual groups (except Baekhyun, who replied, “Super Junior’s Donghae,” just to watch my fists tighten in their place in the lap of my black skirt), before fixing his stare on me. 

“What about you? You’re a solo act outside of SuperM, right?” It was promising at first, the realization that he had done some research, but my hopes that maybe— finally— I was participating in a legitimate interview crashed with the following question. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Korea that you text every night, you know, just to tell him, ‘hi, I love you, I promise I’m not hooking up with any of my superstar bandmates?’”

Questions like that made my blood boil. He didn’t want to know my answer. He didn’t care who I talked to or who I loved. He just wanted to watch me squirm as he pried into my personal affairs. 

“Yes,” I said as calmly as possible, “I am a solo artist. No, I do not have a boyfriend in Korea—”

He raised his eyebrows, probably, in preparation to ask if my boyfriend was touring America with me, but I continued, “When I’m on tour, I try to find time to talk to Joy of Red Velvet or Amber Liu. If I need advice on something related to my performance, I’ll waste no time in calling Girls’ Generation’s Taeyeon.” 

Why didn’t anybody ever ask about my friendships with those girls? It seemed wrong that everyone should be so fixated on my romantic relationships — of which there had only been one that was held as our precious secret— when I would have been more than happy to share the friendships that shaped me as a person and as an artist. 

That interviewer seemed to share Baekhyun’s recently developed interest in making me as uncomfortable as possible. He asked the group, “So, was it hard to teach your new girl all of the choreography? Just how long did it take her to get it?”

In situations like that, I liked to think that I was somehow misunderstanding the question or mistaking the tone. Sometimes, that was the only way to keep myself from snapping. Sometimes, that was the only way I could sit there, legs crossed, without shattering my perfect posture and perfect smile. 

Ten’s temper was as bad as mine— worse, actually— so I didn’t fully succumb to my irritation when he rolled his eyes at the question. I didn’t acknowledge that I had a right to be uncomfortable, that the interviewer was truly being rude, until Kai leaned forward to tap Mark on the shoulder and request, “Translate, please.”

As soon as Mark translated the question, Kai replied in rapid-fire Korean that I couldn’t quite keep up with, “That’s a stupid-ass question. Lei isn’t in the group just because she’s a girl or because she’s pretty or because she’s popular. She’s here because she’s talented. And we’re not here to answer stupid questions that belittle our members.” 

We all stared at Kai as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting his lips. Ten and I, wearing twin stunned expressions, looked (along with the interviewer) for Mark to translate Kai’s answer.

“I — uh—” Mark stuttered— “Kai said, no offense— I added that part— but that question is kinda— no, really disrespectful to Lei.”

Ten agreed, jumping at the opportunity to strike the interviewer with his sass. “Yeah. For us NCT guys—” he gestured to the other NCT members— “although some of us are older, Lei is, like, our senior because she debuted first. We didn’t have to teach her anything. She teaches us.”

Mark translated Ten’s comment for the others, and Lucas and Taeyong murmured in agreement. 

I shook my head despite the affection swelling in my chest. “No, that’s not true. You guys teach me a lot.” 

The interviewer’s stare was all that kept me from saying that Taeyong taught me about leadership, integrity, and honest communication. Ten reintroduced me to the joy in dancing, which (for me) had become less of a soulful expression and more of a mechanical execution of choreography. Lucas taught me so much— too much to describe with words— but the most important lesson was to laugh like nobody is watching even though somebody was always watching. Mark reminded me that people— some people— even in the entertainment industry are good just for the sake of being good. 

And I loved them for that, so I declared, “I love my members,” including (of course) Taemin, Kai, and Baekhyun (even though he was a little demon). I meant it so earnestly that I forgot to consider how my words could be perverted. 

“Yeah, but which member do you _**love**_ most?” The interviewer winked. 

Gathering from my glare at his perversion of “love,” the interviewer redirected the question to the other members, asking, “So we all know it’s happening— who’s sleeping with Lei?”

Granted, I was technically sleeping with Taemin. We would never admit it in an interview, but we had fallen into the habit of falling asleep in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Maybe, then, my blush was caused by the embarrassment of a) having such an intimate aspect of my life aired publicly and b) having it questioned with so little understanding and respect. 

Before I spoke my mind, Mark said the stupidest sentence in recorded history: “Look, man, as bandmates we’re all involved with each other, but we’re not, like, _**involved.**_ ”

Ten started growling, “What—” before I cut my eyes away from Mark to tear into the interviewer. 

Of course, he didn’t shrink under my stare or burn from the flames flung by my narrowed eyes. It didn’t matter that he seemed to delight in my reaction; I spoke the truth not for his benefit but for mine. 

“Aside from being disgusting— the fact that you can only look at me and see my worth as some sexualized creature— it’s appalling that you spread these rumors with absolutely no regard for how it affects _ **my**_ image and _**my**_ career. These guys—” I shrugged in reference to the other members— “are expected to priorities their relationships with their fans above all else—”

“Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous, though?” The interviewer slurped into his microphone as he took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t you think these guys should date if they want?”

Yes. Of course, I did. They deserved to do whatever would make them happy. 

“What they do is none of my concern.” The words were diplomatic, but my tone was not. “It is a problem for me, however, that this narrative painted by those, like yourself, in the media depicts me not only as a disgraced idol but— more importantly— as somebody willing to squander artistic opportunities by sleeping with everybody in a band. Learn to respect me as a woman, an idol, or a human being. Take your pick.”

My hand raised to detach the microphone from the collar of my white button-down top cut just above the navel, but it paused when he asked, “If the standards are so harsh on idols— especially women— don’t you think you’re obligated to challenge the standard?”

His question— spoken so casually as if he weren’t advocating mindlessly for the impossible— should have stunned me silent. It didn’t.

“No,” I said not because I was the perfect idol, not because I wanted to uphold that illusion in that moment, but because I was emboldened by the reality, “I am an artist, not a revolutionary.” 

Before the interviewer could challenge me further— before I could act on the pulsating desire to rip the microphone off, throw it onto the ground, and stomp it under my unnecessarily high red heels, Mom intervened with the muttered excuse that we had other events to attend. She even thanked that bastard for his time. 

I know that was her job— I knew that then— but I felt too angry, too betrayed, to look in her direction afterward. Our relationship wasn’t even remedied in the car when she returned mine and Lucas’s phone with the instruction, “Behave from now on. And brace yourselves for the incoming social media storms when that interview is broadcast.”

Lucas was so thrilled to have his phone, his true best friend, returned that he dropped his arm from its protective place around my shoulders. 

Instantly my screen lit from notifications of fans’ reactions to that interview. It must have been a live broadcast. Not quite ready to face praise or criticism, I locked my phone and shoved it into the narrow space between mine and Lucas’s body. 

With my face burning from the realization that there would be no opportunity to edit or retract any part of my outburst— not that I _**really**_ wanted to— I rounded on Mark, who sat right behind me (beside Taemin who, of course, sat beside Kai). 

“What the hell was that about, Mark?” My imitation of his voice was so accurate that in the seat ahead of me, Ten threw his head back in a bitter sort of laughter. “‘We’re involved, but we’re not involved? What kind of stupid shit—”

Taemin had been smiling when I first turned around, but his expression turned to one of complete bewilderment. His understanding of the incident must have been limited by the interview’s language barrier. He whispered to Kai, “What’s wrong?”

As Kai (who had been donning a scowl that rivaled mine since his outburst) tried to explain the situation to Taemin, Mark stared at me with eyes so wide and guilty that I would have forgiven him instantly if I hadn’t spent so many years swallowing my frustration that I could no longer package my emotions back into their appropriate internal boxes. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark stuttered, “I didn’t mean to say something so stupid—”

“Well, you did!” Ten whirled around to yell at him, brows angled and ears crimson. “If that’s going to be your contribution in interviews, I’m kicking you off English line!”

Mark argued, “You can’t kick me off English line! That’s not how it works! As long as I know English, I’m on English line—” he laughed nervously and reached for my shoulder— “right, Lei?”

Usually, I probably would have laughed along with Ten before siding with Mark. Even in that moment of rage, I worried that I was being too harsh on Mark. It wasn’t really his fault that the media (and that interviewer in particular) was so problematic. Still, that concern didn’t prevent me from crossing my arms, turning around and tugging sharply out of Mark’s reach, and fixing my gaze on the back of Ten’s seat.

As if sensing that I wanted nothing more than to go deaf to Ten’s bickering and Mark’s incessant pleas for me to “please turn around” and forgive him, Taeyong tossed me a pair of earphones and an apologetic grin— if you can really call it a grin. 

Even after I plugged the headphones into my phone and tried to drown my anger in the music flooding into my ears, I rolled my eyes when Mom’s voice raised to snap, “Be quiet back there! I’m on an important call!” before saying into the receiver, “I’m back, Heechul.”

I could only vaguely hope that neither she nor Heechul would say anything loudly enough for Baekhyun, sitting in the passenger seat (one of the perks of being the leader), to hear.

Although Amber, Joy, and Taeyeon had brightened my day with their support, I didn’t feel like running to the pool with the guys when we returned to the hotel. While they were immersed in excited chatter, I beelined to the elevator, rejoicing when Baekhyun told Lucas (who must have been trying to follow me), “Give her space. If she’s anything like Momager, you don’t wanna be around while her temper is flaring.”

I wanted to be alone, but not because my temper was flaring. My furious blush had been abandoned in the car hours ago. Mostly, I was sorry for snapping at Mark— too sorry to look at him or even think of him without picturing the pained expression that settled on his face when I yelled at him— and bothered that my relationship with Taemin had been so misconstrued by that gross interviewer. 

Bothered wasn’t a strong enough word, but I don’t know how else to describe how I felt. It wasn’t quite anger; my face would have been burning still, and I would have been grinding my teeth and balling my hands into fists as I pressed my back against the cold wall. It was more like sadness (but without the pain in my chest) because tears were blurring the edges of my vision, and my lips were trembling. 

The tears weren’t quite ready to fall, so I was standing there with hands ready to catch them when he forced his way through the closing elevator doors. I don’t know if the doors were even closed before Taemin had his arms wrapped around me. 

Because I hadn’t expected him to be so close again until the moon rose, I gasped at the contact, too stunned to return the affection. It was over as soon as it started, over well before the sounding of the chime announcing that we had arrived on our floor. 

Neither of us spoke until we were inside the room, safe from prying eyes. Although we were still wearing our clothes from the day of interviews, although the sun had not yet set, Taemin sat on the bed we called ours— which was still unmade because we had to run downstairs after ignoring our first alarm that morning— and opened his arms for me. 

The version of me who crawled to him wasn’t the same person I had been for most of my life. The version of me who was comfortable with wanting Taemin, who didn’t feel weak for leaning on him— she was a good person. I wished to be her all the time. I was hurt by the outside voices that said I couldn’t be. 

Taemin didn’t ask me to explain why tears were swimming in my eyes, but I did. “I know that we can’t tell other people what we have. I don’t want to waste my breath explaining things nobody can understand anyway. But why do people who don’t even know us have to try to take what’s our and make it into something— something less than what it is?”

Taemin’s fingertips that traced the skin below the hem of my shirt were uncharacteristically cold; they made me shiver. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, “and I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry I can’t carry more of the burden for you.” 

I looked at his face and saw it in the tensing of his jaw: the frustration that he hadn’t been able to understand when I was under attack, the bitter knowledge that (even if he had known) he couldn’t have defended me without arousing suspicions that we were in a relationship. 

Unlike the Lucas rumors that, despite persisting through years of rejection, carried no real weight because they were untrue, rumors about Taemin would have been suffocating because, to some degree, they were true. How would I be able to deny an outright allegation against us? Even if my words lied, my face would convey the truth that Taemin was my first love. 

I was going to tell Taemin that he didn’t have to carry any burden for me— I only wanted him to hold me like this every night to brace me for the next day— but when I looked at him, I couldn’t speak. He was dressed as Taemin the idol, and for a fleeting second, I transformed into the version of myself who couldn’t believe that he was real and in this place with me. 

“They can’t take what’s ours, though.” He linked our hands, smiled brightly, and he was real. “And that means nobody can make it less than what it is.”

Taemin pressed his forehead to mine. I imagine that he was giddy with the realization that our relationship— although unconventional and undefined (‘soulmates’ who weren’t ‘dating’)— was as significant to me as it had always been to him. I imagine that he might have kissed me if Mom hadn’t knocked on the door. 

As I leaped from the bed to answer the door, Taemin snatched something from his suitcase, slid into the bathroom, and locked the door. 

I carefully swallowed the red-hot anger I had been harboring toward Mom (since she thanked that interviewer for his time) before opening the door. She was on the phone again, but she held it away from her ear when I ushered her into the room. 

She sat perched on the edge of the still-made untouched bed, placed the phone by her side, and said, “You know, Lei, as your manager, I have to discourage you from ever repeating your behavior from that interview this morning.” 

Had I been able to find my voice as I stood there, staring down at her with tightly clenched fists, I would have wanted to spit back that I would say exactly what I said that morning every day for the rest of my life because it was _**true**_. The thing is, though, I think that kind of honesty was a once in a lifetime thing. The circumstances that prompted that outburst were a perfect storm; placed in an identical situation tomorrow, my voice might fail me. 

“But as your mother—” a bright smile overwhelmed her stern expression— “I have to say that I’m very proud of you for standing up for yourself!”

When Mom flew off the bed to throw her arms around me, I wrestled with the thought that maybe she struggled to find the balance between mom and manager as much as I struggled to find the balance between human and idol. I thought she was a good mom and a good manager, and I might have told her if she hadn’t released me to grab her phone from the bed. 

“There’s somebody else who wants to speak to you too.” 

From that mischievous glint in her eyes, I should have expected Heechul’s voice to burst through the speaker when I held the phone up to my ear. 

“KID—” he would always call me ‘kid’ no matter how old I was— “I AM SO PROUD OF YOU! NOBODY HAS EVER BEEN AS PROUD AS I AM OF YOU—”

I smiled as I held the phone away from my ear, squirming at the realization that if Heechul was congratulating me, I must have been a rogue idol.

Had anyone been paying attention to us, they would have noticed that Taemin and I walked to the pool together. Of course, we were careful not to hold hands or allow our gazes to linger, but whenever Taemin was near me, I felt that there must be some outward evidence of our bond. 

I knew that it was better that the others were too engrossed in their volleyball game (except Ten, who sat on a sun chair in a well-shaded corner) to notice us until Lucas and Kai wildly beckoned for us to join the game. Yet, although I hadn’t so much as whispered to Lucas that there was something between me and Taemin, I was always slightly disappointed when none of these people— who were my closest friends— noticed what (to me) was impossible to ignore.

Taemin, clad in black swimming trunks, dashed to Kai’s side, but I explained my reluctance to join the game. “I don’t wanna get my hair wet.” Really, though, I didn’t want to shed my denim shorts. 

As I walked to claim the seat next to Ten, Baekhyun cupped both hands around his mouth and yelled, “Lei! Bring me a drink!” and pointed to a small blue cooler. 

When I held a freezing Sprite out to him, standing a safe distance from the edge of the pool because I expected him to pull me into the water, I teased, “You should really use your manners, Baek. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ are nice words.”

He swam over to me, opened the drink, and winked. “Thanks. Ya know, you should follow your own advice and go thank Ten over there.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows at Baekhyun as he gulped the drink down in one sip. “Why?”

“Ah!” Baekhyun beamed at the can as if it contained the best drink he had ever tasted or as if it had been his first drink after months of wandering through a desert. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics, and he laughed. “Oh! Because he came up with the best plan to get Momager and Donghae— Momhae, as I call them— together!”

Miraculously, nobody turned their head at Baekhyun’s hollering. I blinked at him as if that were an adequate defense against his devilish smile and feigned ignorance as best as I could. “What?”

Knowing that he had done enough to get under my skin— he had done enough to flash his hand without showing all the tricks he held up his sleeve— Baekhyun shrugged. “Why don’t ya ask Ten about it?” He suggested before swimming back to the volleyball game, leaving the Sprite can empty at my feet. 

After tossing Baekhyun’s trash into the bin, I sat next to Ten. Pulling my sandaled feet onto the chair, I tried to study his expression to gather whether he actually knew about “Momhae.” Because he was wearing huge black sunglasses that covered most of his face, I couldn’t piece anything together.

I didn’t even know if Ten noticed me until a smirk tugged at his lips. “Like what ya see?”

I hadn’t even been looking at Ten like _ **that**_ , yet the suggestive lilt of his voice painted my face a pale pink. Maybe Ten couldn’t see my blush through his sunglasses, but I tore my gaze away anyway and sat back in my chair, arms crossed over my short cropped t-shirt. 

Ten lowered his glasses to delight in my reaction to his teasing. Something about that sparkle in his eyes annoyed me— emboldened me to reply, “No, not really.” 

Realizing that I wasn’t playing along with his flirtations, Ten’s jaw dropped (maybe to ask what was wrong with me), but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You shouldn’t be talking about my mom’s personal affairs with Baekhyun of all people.”

Ten only said, pitch high from confusion, “What?”

And I realized that Baekhyun tricked me into bringing Momhae up to another member. When he waved at me (just before Taemin launched the volleyball at his obnoxiously large head), I thought I could have murdered Baekhyun. 

Ten knew absolutely nothing about Mom and Donghae. He probably hadn’t considered anything about Mom’s life outside of being a manager until I opened my big mouth. Now, he was looking for me to explain my outburst, and I only had time to briefly thank God that I hadn’t mentioned Donghae’s name before Lucas plopped down onto the foot of my chair. 

I could have barked at Lucas for shaking his head like a wet dog and soaking me with pool water, but I was too grateful that he had come to dig me out of this awkward situation with Ten. Once he opened his mouth, however, I realized that Lucas was there to worsen matters. 

As if Ten wasn’t sitting right there, still staring at me, Lucas said, “Dude, Lei, I’ve been meaning to tell you since, like, the start of the tour that Taemin likes you.” 

Had I not known, I might have been as shocked as Ten, who sat up so quickly that his sunglasses fell onto the ground. “What? Taemin likes Lei?”

When my instinct was to hiss for Ten to be quiet, Lucas narrowed his eyes at me. “Wait. You’re not surprised enough. Did Taemin already tell you he likes you?”

I never stopped being surprised by how perceptive Lucas was. Usually, that trait made him a remarkable best friend because it enabled him to know when I was troubled without requiring an awkward exchange of feelings. In that moment, however, I wanted to kick Lucas for somehow knowing everything. 

I didn’t lie exactly. “I don’t think Taemin likes me.” I didn’t think; I knew.

Neither Ten (who just liked to tease everybody) nor Lucas (who just wanted to know every intimate detail of my life) was satisfied by that response. When they continued to pester me about Taemin, I had to adopt the same tone I used in the interview to scold, “Cut it out, guys. I still have to sleep in a room with him tonight and for the rest of the tour, and you’re making it weird!”

My heart was still racing after they ceased their demands for more information. I was so overwhelmed by the fact that I had almost shared my two deepest secrets— Donghae’s love for Mom (which was directly related to her true identity as the idol who never debuted) and my love for Taemin— that I retired to my room early without apologizing to Mark, which was the entire reason why I walked down to the pool in the first place.


	8. Supportive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for the most melodramatic narration you've ever read lol!

**Kai's POV**

I could probably count on one hand how many times I lost my temper in a professional setting. I could probably count on one hand how many times I felt as nauseatingly guilty as I did when that rude interviewer disrespected Lei with those stupid questions. On the surface, I felt the same concern for Lei as the other members. On a deeper level, I was disgusted with myself because in that man, I saw traces of my reflection. 

Had I not treated Lei the same way before we went camping, when I thought of her as an inconvenience? Had I not failed to respect her as a person and an artist? Granted, I had made strides toward appreciating her worth in the group. While defending her was an impulse— the words fell out of my mouth without much consideration— in the aftermath, I hoped that maybe it could be my act of redemption. 

Although I apologized on the pier, although I already tried to make amends by asking her to call me by my name, throughout the day I was compelled to apologize again and again. All that kept me biting my tongue was the fear of worsening her day by bringing up old transgressions. 

Yet, when we returned to the hotel and I saw that Lei looked so upset, I decided that I would apologize anyway. I was walking toward her despite Baekhyun’s advice to give her space when Taemin brushed past me to follow her into the elevator. 

It shouldn’t have annoyed me— that lovesick look in Taemin’s eyes as he held Lei in his arms before the elevator doors closed— but I rolled my eyes. 

“Come on, Lucas.” I grabbed his arms and tugged him toward the elevators, saying, “We need to change into our bathing suits. Manager will never forgive us if we jump into the pool wearing our clothes.” 

I don’t know if Lucas expected me to ask, “What’s going on with Lei and Taemin?” as soon as I closed the door to our room. 

He didn’t seem too surprised. Digging through his suitcase, Lucas laughed. “Is this all our friendship is now, Kai— you whisking me off to our room to ask about Lei’s love life?”

Growing a little red in the face, I shook my head and pulled my swim trunks out of my bag. “I just think it’s a little ridiculous that after throwing a tantrum about people shipping her with the members, she runs off to her hotel room with Taemin.”

It wasn’t shocking that Lucas would defend his friend, but I didn’t really expect him to be so loud about it. I had never known Lucas to lose his temper, but his face flushed an unnatural scarlet when he said, “First of all, she has every right to deny those rumors. She had every right to be angry when she’s denied herself relationships with every guy in the industry— except me and Super Junior— before Taemin.” 

I blinked at him, and he continued, “Obviously, whatever is going on with her and Taemin is so special that she can’t tell me, and Taemin can’t tell you, so just—”

Lucas pounded his fist on his bed as he struggled with words. 

“— lay off, Kai. Try to be a supportive friend. And remember that Taemin followed _**her**_ into the elevator. Taemin asked _**her**_ for her ribbon. That doesn’t make her a hypocrite.”

I stood there, stunned by his scolding, unsure of how I would have responded if he hadn’t stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. 

_**Try to be supportive.** _

It never occurred to me that I hadn’t been. My idea of supporting Taemin was to remain rational despite his ramblings about soulmates and ribbons and the moon. But maybe— maybe Lucas’s definition of support was better than mine. 

Was I just another person Taemin had to bite his tongue around? Had he been guarding his relationship with Lei as a secret even from me because I discouraged him? 

I never meant to interfere with Taemin’s happiness. I only wanted him to be careful with his heart. I only wanted to warn him against the dangers of confusing convenient attraction with destined love. Of course, I was concerned about how his career— and Lei’s— might have been affected by their fling, but I was more concerned that Taemin was throwing all of his love at somebody who was incapable of appreciating it. 

Maybe I was too harsh on Lei, but I had witnessed over the past few years how easily she could discard Sehun’s heart. I had seen her roll her eyes and run whenever guys who weren’t Lucas got too close. I just didn’t want Taemin to be another guy she could reject to feel higher and mightier. 

Until I saw how she looked at Taemin when they walked down to the pool— when she thought nobody was looking— it never occurred to me that maybe she didn’t derive some power from breaking guys’ hearts. Maybe the issue was that nobody had ever liked her as genuinely as Taemin did; maybe the issue was that she really hadn’t liked any of those other guys. 

Maybe— no, definitely— I misunderstood her. 

How long would I look at her, who likely never deserved my criticism, and feel this sorry? When would I be able to join in her laughter and feel like the wall I built between us was demolished?

I didn’t know, but I hoped that time would arrive soon after Lucas told me, smiling at his phone, “Lei told me something very interesting.”

I hoped that time would arrive soon after Taemin texted me, probably smiling more broadly than Lucas, to say that Lei loved him. 

Of course, I guess I already knew that Taemin loved her; I was just sorry I didn’t believe him sooner.


	9. Dream

**Lei’s POV**

I guess Mark didn’t believe me when I said that he didn’t have to make up for his dumb “involved but not _ **involved**_ ” comment. Before our show in Atlanta, we had a few off days, so nobody was abiding by a strict curfew or anything. It must have been well past midnight by the time Taemin and I returned to our room after watching NCT Dream’s comeback with Kai and Lucas in their room.

Taemin had just stepped into the bathroom to wash his face (I guess even on rest days, he put effort into being beautiful), and I had just crawled into bed, still humming Dream’s new song. On off days, my exhaustion caught up with me all at once, so I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

When I awoke to some commotion at the door, I assumed that it was just Taemin coming out of the bathroom to fill the space beside me or— a little less likely, but not impossible— Lucas bursting into the room in an attempt to catch me in some romantic act with Taemin. My eyes and mind didn’t adjust to the reality of the situation until Mark plopped down at the foot of my bed, speaking excitedly into his phone.

“Lei,” he whispered as if he hadn’t made the loudest entrance into a room ever— as if courteous of the fact that I wanted to sleep. “Are you awake?”

I sat upright and glared at him through sleep-swollen eyes, voice too hoarse to tell him to get out. 

“Look,” Mark pleaded, “don’t be mad that I broke into your room in the middle of the night. Just grab your phone and turn on Dream’s V Live.” 

I blinked, too tired to understand what he said until he looked at me with wide eyes. “Please? I promise it’ll be worth it!”

At once feeling grateful that Taemin had denied my pleas for him to skip his skincare routine just once to go straight to sleep— relieved that Mark hadn’t caught us in some innocent (although easy to misinterpret) embrace under the blanket— I snatched my phone from the nightstand and opened the V Live app. 

No sooner than Mark said, “Okay, guys,” did NCT Dream, looking as adorable as ever on my screen, erupt into chaotic cheers that emanated from my phone and Mark’s. 

At first, I could only wince at the noise. Then, Mark smiled at my confused expression, and I noticed that Renjun and Jisung were holding up a huge glittering sky blue banner that read: “Happy 7th Anniversary, Lei!”

My fatigue finally wore off with the realization that NCT Dream was celebrating the anniversary of my debut. While the others continued to holler incoherent praises, Haechan stood from the couch and started singing the song that launched my career. 

I didn’t realize that joyful tears were filling my eyes until I looked at Mark, who was still beaming at my excitement. I don’t think he expected me to throw my arms around him; otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have dropped his phone onto the carpeted floor. 

As Taemin stepped out of the bathroom, avoided looking at me and Mark despite my efforts to meet his eyes and excitedly explain that I was talking to NCT Dream, and dove face-first onto the other bed, Mark grabbed the phone from the floor and handed it to me. 

I couldn’t feel disappointed by the lack of Taemin’s attention for long. Nervous— unsure of how to respond to such a sweet gesture— I stared at Mark. He encouraged me to speak with a gentle nudge in the ribs and the raising of his eyebrows. 

“You guys look so cute!” was all I could think to say. 

Mark had taken my phone, which was still streaming the V Live, so we could watch the boys. With my free hand, I slapped my forehead, burning with embarrassment as they threw their heads back laughing at my starstruck remark. 

On a less humiliating note, I hummed, “Thank you,” into Mark’s phone. 

All together, they responded, “You’re welcome!”

Jeno, smiling devilishly, holding the phone on Dream’s end, declared, “This was all Mark Hyung’s idea!”

Chenle wiggled his eyebrows. “So make sure you thank Mark Hyung, too!”  
I couldn’t help but feel like they used honorifics as some kind of joke, especially when I glanced at Mark and saw that his face was burning a pale shade of pink. Not wanting to darken his blush, I whispered, “Thank you.” 

Mark’s only response was the grinning subtle nod of his head. He must have been in an unusually shy mood. 

Jisung boasted, “Mark said you love us!”

And Renjun added, waving the banner once more, “We just wanted to tell you that we love you too!”

“Yeah,” Haechan agreed. Then, as if determined to make my heart explode, he repeated, “We love you, Noona!”

I wasn’t trying to act like a total dork for NCT’s entire fanbase to hear, but I couldn’t keep from squealing. While the boys— even (no, especially) Mark from his place next to me— giggled at that reaction, I explained, “I don’t think anybody has ever called me Noona before, and I just—” I ran a hand through my hair— “I love you guys too much.”

“Just for the record, though,” Jaemin’s voice alone intensified my nerves. I hid my burning face against Mark’s shoulder, utterly grateful that Dream couldn’t see me melt as Jaemin revealed, “Mark said you love me most, Noona.” 

Before I could get mad at Mark for sharing Truth or Dare secrets, before Mark could say anything to disrupt the other boys’ gasps and whistles, Jaemin winked and did this heart-fluttering snap that really didn’t have any place in the real world offstage. “Hit me up.”

Mark grabbed the phone from me and joked— except his tone was slightly sharper than usual— “Alright, now that you’ve made Lei’s day, we gotta go.” 

“Wait!” Jisung begged, pouting. “Is Taemin Hyung there? I really wanna talk to him.” 

Mark and I glanced over at Taemin. He wasn’t facing us, and he didn’t respond to his name at all, so Mark replied, “Sorry, Jisung. Taemin’s asleep.” As if to lessen Jisung’s obvious disappointment, Mark explained, “It’s kinda late here. We’ll tell him to call you later. Sorry again.” 

Jisung gave us a polite little smile that resembled Taemin’s formal expression. “It’s okay.” His eyes looked so sad that I might have shaken Taemin awake had Jisung not waved seconds later. “Goodnight!”

The others chorused, “Goodnight!” and Jaemin winked one more time before Mark hung up and closed out of the V Live.

  


Almost as soon as Mark returned my phone, after his most recent apology for Jaemin’s flirting (which I dismissed with the wave of my hand, promising, “It’s okay. Really. It was cute.”), Donghae called me. By no means was I out of contact with Super Junior, but nobody— except, occasionally, Yesung— ever called just to chat, so I assumed that something was wrong. 

As I answered with panic in my voice, Donghae asked, “Is Mark your roommate throughout the tour?”

Maybe Mark somehow heard his name, or maybe he just noticed that my body had gone stiff with worry. He watched me with rounded eyes as I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that Donghae couldn’t see that gesture. 

“No.” The question caught me so off guard, I couldn’t wonder where it came from. “And don’t worry— I’m not rooming with Lucas either.” 

I expected that sort-of joke might take the edge off Donghae’s voice, but his pitch heightened when he asked, “But you’re rooming with another member?”

“It’s only Taemin,” I said, hoping that Taemin’s professional reputation may ease Donghae’s palpable anxiety. 

I never had a conversation like this with my father, but I imagined that Donghae was the closest I had to a Dad. I could have been annoyed when he called me in the dead of night to lecture about how inappropriate it was to share a room with a boy— even Taemin— but I was too flattered that he cared about me. 

Also, I was too relieved to hear his voice for that first time since his birthday, since his fight with Mom. On some level that I couldn’t explore because of the demands of the tour, I must have been worried that our relationship would suffer as long as his relationship with Mom suffered. 

Even as Donghae scolded me, I smiled. 

“Did your mother approve of this arrangement just like she approved of your subunit with Lucas?”

_**Oh.**_ Had this all been a scheme to talk to Mom? 

“Yeah,” I answered, suddenly numb. 

Donghae said, “Let me talk to her.” 

I shouldn’t have felt some intangible wound in my chest. I should have been relieved that Donghae apparently still loved Mom despite her most recent rejection. I was. I was relieved. Relieved and deeply uncomfortable with being the middle-man in a relationship Mom wasn’t ready for. 

I think the general consensus among Kai and Lucas was that Mom was going a bit overboard in denying herself happiness with Donghae. Taemin might have agreed with them, but I couldn’t be sure. On the few occasions that Momhae came up around Taemin, he just listened quietly, nodding his head as I spoke. 

Obviously, I wanted Donghae to be happy. I mean it when I say that I loved him like he was a father figure. I won’t lie to you, though; Mom was my primary concern. I thought she probably loved Donghae, and I hoped that she wasn’t avoiding him out of a fear I knew well, but I did not want to be the person who forced her to confront her feelings. 

To be entirely honest with you, that night I really resented Donghae for putting me in this position where I either had to choose between supporting his behavior or supporting Mom’s. I guess I should have understood that Donghae loved me— I knew he did— but he loved Mom longer.

Anyway, I tried to excuse myself from involvement by saying, “I don’t know where Mom is, but I’m sure she’s asleep. It’s very late here.”

Mark must have been trying to help when he said, “I’m pretty sure Momager’s sleeping in the van.” 

Mom was sleeping in the van? That explained why she made me room with Taemin; there weren’t enough rooms for everyone. That was just the kind of manager Mom was; she would sacrifice her comfort for the sake of her artists. She had likely gone to great lengths to ensure that nobody knew, but I still felt guilty for not knowing. 

It seemed that Mom was always making a sacrifice that I knew nothing about. She probably would have denied an invitation to stay with me and Taemin— it wasn’t appropriate or whatever— but I might have felt a little less guilty about the empty bed going to waste while Mom slept in a car if I had the opportunity to offer it to her. 

Of course, Donghae heard Mark and shrieked, “She’s sleeping in the van?”

I knew then that Donghae wouldn’t let me hang up until I walked the phone down to the van so he could focus his lecture on Mom. I guess love makes people crazy. 

Mark, at least, seemed to realize that Donghae was being ridiculous. He whispered, “It’s late. It’s not safe for you to walk down to the van in the dark.” Then, understanding that Donghae wasn’t going to let up so easily, Mark decided, “I’ll walk down with you, then.” 

You can judge me for this if you want, but I didn’t especially want to talk to Donghae, so I muted the call as Mark and I stood from my bed and shuffled out of the room. We were as quiet as possible, thinking that Taemin was fast asleep, but Mark didn’t hesitate to apologize again for Jaemin ‘ruining’ the V Live. 

“I didn’t tell him that he is your bias so he could air it on a broadcast and create another scandal for you.” Mark punched the elevator button. “I just wanted to get Jaemin involved with the surprise, and he responds best to flattery, so— I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” I almost laughed when Mark threw his green hood over his head and anxiously crossed his arms over his chest. “Seriously, dude, I told you that it was cute. I’m totally not offended. I’m just glad you did something so special for me.”

As the elevator doors opened, and we walked into the crisp November night, footsteps echoing through the parking deck, Mark offered, “I’ll give you Jaemin’s number. You know, if you really want to hit him up.”

I blinked at Mark. It was amazing, really, that he could have a crush on me and still encourage me to pursue one of his members.

Of course, I hadn’t taken Jaemin seriously in part because of his goofy winking and, more importantly, because I loved Taemin. Although Taemin and I hadn’t promised to be exclusive, I hadn’t forgotten that look on his face when he caught me in Lucas’s room that morning. Besides, I couldn’t really fall for Jaemin’s boyish charms when I had a soulmate in Taemin. 

I only shook my head at Mark’s offer before he wrapped his knuckles on the van window. 

Despite Mark’s claim that Mom was sleeping in the van, I didn’t quite expect her face to suddenly appear in the window like it did. My phone would have landed face down on the asphalt if Mark hadn’t caught it.

Mom rolled the window down to hiss, “What are you two doing down here?” She must have been in a deep sleep; her hair was sticking up in all directions, and the dark bags under her eyes were puffy. 

I must not have muted Donghae. He blurted through my phone’s speakers, “What are _**you**_ doing sleeping in the van?”

Mom reached her hand out the window, and I handed her the phone so she could retort, “Why are you calling me through my daughter’s phone? Aren’t you supposed to be filming ‘Super Junior Returns?’”

“First of all, don’t play that **_‘my daughter’_** card with me, okay? She’s _**ours.**_ And yes, I was filming before ** _our daughter_** told me that you have her sharing a room with a boy!”

Mark gave me this slackjawed look that clearly meant, _ **“Yo, dude, Donghae’s your dad?”**_

I shook my head and muttered, “Only figuratively,” hoping that a.) this would be the only time they used me as an argument point and b.) their dispute would wrap up quickly and with no reference to the idol who never debuted. 

Mom replied, tone much harsher than mine had been, “It’s only Taemin.”

And Donghae shot back, “Taemin is still a boy! Anything could happen! It’s inappropriate!” 

“Don’t you think I’d know if _**my**_ daughter was sleeping with Taemin?”

My face, which had already been turning pink, turned scarlet because I was literally sleeping with Taemin. And, evidently, Mom had no clue. I turned my back to the van so neither Mom could witness my guilty, flustered expression. 

“I don’t know,” Donghae said, “did you know that Mark just broke into her room to surprise her with an NCT Dream V Live?”

I turned around just in time to watch Mark’s eyes widen in horror. So that was how Donghae got all worked up about this roommate nonsense; he watched the live. 

Mom rolled her eyes at his question. “Of course I knew! Who do you think gave Mark the key?”

At that, Mark fished a card out of his sweatpants’ pocket and returned it to Mom with a sheepish sort of smile. He hadn’t been blushing about overhearing Mom and Donghae’s argument, but he could no longer meet my eyes after returning the room key. I guess he didn’t want me to know that he had coordinated my debut anniversary surprise with Mom. 

I don’t really understand why. The worse alternative was that he picked the lock on the door— if Taemin even locked it. I was a little too busy burning from my own humiliation to worry too much about Mark’s, though. 

When Donghae had no response, Mom continued, “You need to worry about yourself and let me worry about Lei, Mark, and Taemin.”

Donghae started, “I—”

But Mom wouldn’t let him speak. “Besides, nothing is going on with Lei and Taemin! She would never cheat on Lucas!”

_**Unbelievable.** _

I think I did a pretty good job of biting my tongue until then. It probably did no good to yell, “I am **NOT** dating Lucas!” so loudly that my voice disturbed the tranquility of the parking deck, but I couldn’t keep the words from booming out of my mouth. 

Seeming desperate to support me, Mark chirped, “Yeah.”

Mom only glanced at us, apparently unconvinced, before telling Donghae, “Don’t send these kids down here so late again. If you want to talk to me so badly, just call—”

“I _**did**_ call you,” Donghae interrupted. “You didn’t answer—”

_**Oh.**_ So that’s exactly why he called me: Mom wasn’t answering her calls. Donghae was a little protective, so his concern about the roommate situation was probably somewhat legitimate, but (mostly) it just provided him an excuse to talk to Mom.

“Then call at a decent hour,” Mom advised coolly before saying, “Goodnight, Donghae,” hanging up, and returning the phone to me. 

Without saying another word to me or Mark, Mom rolled the window up and crawled to the backseat. Even if I hadn’t seen the briefest glimpse of the crimson coloring her face, I would have known that Mom was embarrassed. I would have been sorry no matter what.

  


Apparently, Mark had an ongoing video game tournament with Baekhyun. When Mark walked into Baekhyun’s room (shared with Ten), I hoped that he wouldn’t mention anything about Mom and Donghae’s most recent argument. Judging by the smile Mark flashed before closing the door following Baekhyun’s command to “Hurry up so I can kick your ass at Mario Kart!” I guessed that our midnight walk down to the van would be our secret. 

Sadness washed over me as I entered the room and realized that Taemin was still fast asleep in the bed that wasn’t ours. As I kicked my shoes off, I considered squeezing into the space by his side, but when I heard his gentle breathing in the silence, I decided that it would be wrong to risk waking him just because I had forgotten how to sleep without his embrace. 

With a heavy heart, consoling myself with the thought that I would see him when the sun rose— that there were still several nights left in the tour to fall asleep in Taemin’s arms— I shuffled to our empty bed. 

My head hadn’t even hit the pillow before his voice filled the darkness. “So you’re really just going to sleep over there?”

I wanted to jump at the opportunity to lay with Taemin, but something in his tone left me too stunned to answer until he rolled over and looked at me, very much awake.

As if I had done something wrong, I avoided his eyes and quietly explained, “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Although Taemin spoke in a low whisper, his tone was sharp. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“I didn’t know that,” I tried to say rationally, but my words came out as more of a whine. “Besides, in case you didn’t notice, Mark broke into our room—”

He interrupted just to stiffly respond, “I noticed.”

I could only blink at his response, forgetting for a moment what I had planned to say. “So it’s probably not a good idea for us to keep sleeping together.”

Taemin’s reflex was to sit upright, posture unnaturally straight as he turned on the bedside lamp and looked at me. He must have been looking for any traces of humor because he asked, “Are you serious?”

I was still lying on my back when I nodded my head and he narrowed his eyes at me. What was wrong with him? Did I really have to spell out word for word why it was irresponsible, inappropriate, and problematic to sleep together when we were technically on the job? 

I guessed so. Taemin wouldn’t stop staring at me, brow furrowed, so I explained, “Yeah. It’s pure luck that Mark didn’t catch us sleeping together. Anyone could walk in, see us, and jump to wrong conclusions, and then—”

My voice broke off as I watched Taemin stand from his bed, flick on the overhead light to drown the room in blinding white light, and stomp over to the door. “Well, Lei, you know how we keep people from coming into our room when we don’t want them to interrupt us?”

He raised his eyebrows at me as if to challenge my temper. I swear, if he were anyone else in the universe, I would have thrown my pillow at his face. It was only out of pure love that I sank my teeth into my tongue and allowed him to continue, “We **_lock the door_**.”

He flipped the swing bar lock that tops most hotel doors with a deafening thud. 

I flinched at the sound, jumping up in my bed, and glared at him. “First of all, you’re going to wake up the whole hotel if you keep slamming, things, Taemin.”

At his name, Taemin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. 

Whatever his problem was, he was getting on my nerves. I never imagined that Taemin could annoy me so badly, but I also never dreamed that he could act like such a brat. And why? Because I hadn’t known that he was only pretending to be asleep? Because I hadn’t crawled into bed with him? I couldn’t understand his behavior, and I didn’t know if it was because Taemin was a genuine mystery or because I was inexperienced with boys. 

Frustrated, and crossing my arms just to mock Taemin’s body language, I said, “If this is how you’re going to act, then I don’t want to sleep with you on principle.”

Taemin gawked at me— not quite glaring— before standing at the foot of his bed. He nodded, “Right. Of course. You wouldn’t want me laying too close while you hit up the love of your life, Na Jaemin.” He winked sloppily and snapped his fingers. A poor imitation of Jaemin’s gesture from the V Live.

Taemin must have caught his reflection in the mirror hanging above the nightstand. He must have realized how silly he looked. His face burned a deep maroon before he collapsed onto the bed, hid his face in a pillow, and pulled the blanket over himself. 

**_Oh._** So that’s why he was acting like a jerk: he was jealous of Jaemin. 

For some reason, that information made Taemin’s outburst, which irritated me just minutes ago, into something worthy of laughter. I tried to bite my giggles back, but they burst out of my mouth sometime after I turned the lights off, peeled Taemin’s blanket back, and wrapped my arms around his waist. 

I tried to stifle my amusement by pressing my face into the back of his shirt, but Taemin heard me anyway. Without glancing back, in a bashful whisper, he grumbled, “What’s so funny? I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me.”

His behavior was pitiful. Genuine sympathy struck my heart even as I laughed harder. I apologized by tightening my hold around him. “It’s just hilarious, Taemin, that you think I could be interested in anyone else when I have you.” 

“Ah, stop laughing,” he begged as he laced his fingers through mine. “I’m embarrassed enough—”

“I think you deserve to be properly embarrassed,” I teased, pressing a light kiss— the first kiss— to the nape of his neck. “You probably woke Taeyong next door, and for what reason? Because Mark did something nice to celebrate my debut anniversary?”

I pretended to be teasing Taemin, but (really) I just knew that we had to talk about the feelings that fueled his tantrum. I didn’t really know how to initiate a serious discussion, and I didn’t want to make Taemin too anxious to talk to me, so I tried to approach the situation with laughter. 

He rolled over to face me, but he couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “No. I’m glad Mark made you happy, but— I don’t know— I didn’t like when Jaemin flirted with you because, I guess, I remembered how much you liked him when we went camping.”

Had Taemin given me an opportunity to speak, I would have explained that the Truth or Dare game was lifetimes ago. I would have explained that, even back then, my attraction to Jaemin as an idol never compared to my attraction to Taemin as something— well, frankly— more important than an idol. I would have explained that, in my memories, that camping trip was defined by Taemin taking my ribbon and asking who my ultimate idol was and sneaking his jacket into the backseat of Mom’s car. 

“And then you came back after going downstairs with Mark—”

“Taemin,” I reminded gently, “I didn’t know you were awake, or I would have preferred to walk to the van with you.” 

Would I have, though? Would I have wanted Taemin to hear Mom and Donghae arguing like children— or, worse— like a divorced couple? Would I have wanted Taemin to hear Mom reaffirm her longtime suspicion that I was dating Lucas? Probably not, but I said what sounded right.

Taemin closed his eyes. “That’s fine. I don’t care that you went with Mark. I just— it really hurt my heart when you didn’t come to sleep with me once you came back. I don’t—” He faltered before admitting— “I don’t like feeling like you don’t want to be close to me.”

I thought that Taemin was being a little dramatic, but the tears that gathered in his eyes were all too real. Easily, I could have defensively demanded that he get over himself. I could have blamed him for stubbornly laying by himself if he wanted so badly to be held. 

I didn’t want to do either of those things, though. I loved Taemin too much to anything but card a hand through his hair. 

Instead of throwing a tantrum when Taemin’s emotional response made me uncomfortable, I remembered my own twinge of sadness when he plopped down onto the other bed when Mark was in the room. At one point, I wanted nothing more than to avoid emotional vulnerability, but by this point in the night, a loss of pride seemed like a worthy price for Taemin’s happiness. 

“I’m sorry,” I promised despite my conviction that I had done nothing wrong. “I didn’t mean to hurt your heart. I always want to be close to you. Even when Mark crashes our cuddling plans.”

Blushing at the word ‘cuddle,’ Taemin asked in a small voice, “Even when I’m slamming things and winking like an idiot?”

I teased, “You were a little less like an idiot and more like a two-year-old,” and Taemin rolled onto his stomach to hide his face in the pillow again.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was muffled by the pillowcase. “I’m really sorry I acted like that. Today is your day, and I acted like a jealous moron.”

I muttered, “It’s okay,” but Taemin shook his head, so I rephrased, “I forgive you, Taemin, and I really want to be close to you, so please stop hiding your face.”

When Taemin laid on his back and motioned for me to fill the space closest to his side, he looked more human than ever. Maybe it was because I knew now that he could feel jealous, feel angry, feel ashamed, feel sorry, behave irrationally. Maybe I should have recognized these truths as faults because, in any other person, they were. 

While tracing incoherent patterns on his chest over his shirt, all I could say was, “I love you.” 

Before, I couldn’t understand saying that kind of thing more than once. I didn’t know why couples would confess their admiration as a greeting— ‘I love you’ in the place of ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye.’ I thought that saying any words too often stripped them of meaning. Perhaps more than anything, I loathed meaninglessness. 

But now that I loved Taemin, I could hardly keep the words to myself. It didn’t matter that he knew. It didn’t matter that I tried to express my love through every action. Every time I looked at him, there was this bubbling in my chest that could only be temporarily relieved by confessing, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ 

I used to think that people said things like that for the reaction. A girl would say ‘I love you,’ even if she didn’t just to hear the boy say, ‘I love you too,’ because then she could smile even if the words weren’t true. Now, I understood that someone truly in love doesn’t say so for a reward; they say so because the truth is too beautiful to keep quiet. 

Taemin smiled for the first time since his episode. “I love you too,” he said, kissing my forehead before we fell asleep.

  


Taemin was always clingiest when the sun first broke through the morning clouds. At first, I just laid there, still because I didn’t want to disturb his well deserved rest. That morning, however, I was eager to get dressed and run downstairs to Mom’s van because I hadn’t seen Grandma in what felt like eternities. 

I tried to close my eyes and enjoy the warmth of Taemin’s heart beating against my chest— somehow, he crawled on top of me in our sleep— but my eyes shot open when he pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

I guess I was annoyed by two things: 

  1. How long had Taemin been awake and feigning sleep to keep me tangled in bed with him? 
  2. How long would we dance around the desire to share our first real kiss?



“Ah, Taemin,” I huffed when he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You have to get up.” 

He whined, “Why? We don’t have to go anywhere today. We can just stay like this all day.” 

Deep down, he must have known that we couldn’t stay in bed all day. It would only be a matter of time before Lucas— or worse, Baekhyun— would notice our absence, come barreling down the hall to pound on the door, and (after picking the lock or something) scream at the discovery that we flipped the swing bar lock. 

Still, it was so nice to dream of a universe where Taemin and I could be comfortable together without arousing suspicion that I didn’t shatter the daydream by mentioning Lucas or Baekhyun. 

“Mom said I could visit my grandma today.” I patted Taemin’s hip twice to encourage him to move without excessive force. He wouldn’t budge, though, as he beamed at me with a smile that would have been precious were he not using it to be a brat. “Come on, Taem. We can cuddle again tonight.”

Taemin was getting greedy— trying to make the nights last even after the sun rose. I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t do that; yet, I couldn’t quite fault him for trying. 

Cocking his head to the side and taking a strand of my hair between his fingers, Taemin puffed out his lips. A naturally pretty pink. “Taem? I don’t know that you’ve called me that before. Does this mean we’re getting serious?”

I snorted, and he grinned. “I thought we’ve been serious. You know, since you started all that talk about soulmates, and—”

In my efforts to push him aside, my fingertips brushed against a patch of skin— hot to the touch— on his abdomen that was exposed from his shirt riding up in the night. Taemin jolted away from the unexpected touch. That was my opportunity to escape his embrace. 

As I shifted through my suitcase for something to wear, Taemin rolled onto his back, deliberately bouncing against the mattress’s creaking springs, and held a pillow over his face. “You’re so mean!”

I swatted at the foot of the bed and scolded, “Will you please stop making such a fuss? If you keep bouncing around, you’re going to make Taeyong think that unholy things are happening.”

Just to be a punk, Taemin threw his pillow aside, jumped into a sitting position, and smiled devilishly when he drove the bed against the wall separating our room from Taeyong’s and Mark’s. 

“Taeyong?” Taemin repeated, eyes widened in mock innocence.

“Yeah.” I nodded stiffly, face burning as I pulled from my suitcase a blue sundress— the outfit closest to the blue schoolgirl outfit I wore to debut. Taemin’s expression of false innocence tied my stomach in knots, so I choked, “Taeyong. You know, our group member who sleeps next door. He heard you slam the lock last night, and apparently he thinks he needs to rescue me from you.”

It was a little cruel to rejoice in Taemin’s slack-jawed expression, but I had to get back at him for his little bed stunt somehow. Obviously, I wasn’t above mentioning his moment of deepest shame to wipe the boyish grin from his face. 

Dress in hand, I walked into the bathroom. After setting my clothes on the counter and grabbing my toothbrush, noticing my splotchy blush in the mirror, I left the door unlocked because I knew that Taemin would walk through it at any moment. 

Right on cue, he walked into the bathroom, eyes now genuinely blown wide. Uncoordinatedly, he reached for his toothbrush, dropped it into his sink, and asked while picking it up, “Wait, Taeyong knows we’re dating?”

His reaction was a little funny since he just delighted in banging the bed against the wall, almost definitely giving Taeyong the wrong idea, just minutes ago. 

I raised my eyebrows and spoke through my mouthful of toothpaste— a total vision of beauty, I’m sure. “Wait, we’re dating?”

Maybe that was a little mean. 

Taemin rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the blush spreading across his face. Cute. He was cute when he was flustered, so I probably wouldn’t be able to pass on opportunities to tease him. 

“I— we—” I failed to bite back my chuckles, and Taemin grumbled, “You know what I mean!” Puffing his chest out as if rising to a challenge, he declared, “And yes. I think that after last night’s incident, I should be able to call you my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” I grinned, “so after pitching a fit in a jealous rage, you’ve earned the right to call me yours?”

“No.” Either annoyed by my mocking or embarrassed by his own speech (or both), Taemin stuffed his toothbrush into his mouth. Maybe he was trying to shut himself up. Or maybe he was just trying to excuse himself from having to talk to me. I don’t know. 

Taemin wouldn’t speak again until I dropped my toothbrush onto the counter, hooked my arms around his waist, and nuzzled my face against the back of his shirt just as I had last night. There was an all-encompassing comfort in the fact that Taemin always smelled faintly of roses. 

Placing a hand around my wrist to keep me tethered to him, Taemin continued his morning skincare routine with just one hand. I could have rolled my eyes at his talent for over-complicating simple tasks, but it was fascinating to watch the inconvenient lengths he would go to just to ensure that I showed him the affection he craved. 

“Lei.” 

The silence had gone on for too long, and now Taemin was looking in the mirror, still blushing that pretty rose shade. 

I assumed that he was urging me to answer his question about whether Taeyong knew we were together, so I nodded my head behind his shoulder. “Yeah. He heard our little argument last night, and he knows that we sleep together, so—”

Maybe Taemin thought that I was going to suggest (again) that we sleep separately. Shaking his head, he turned around. He leaned back against the counter and took both of my hands into his. “That’s okay. I don’t really care if Taeyong knows. I don’t really care who knows.”

My mouth opened to argue, but Taemin might have been telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t care whether our relationship was public knowledge. Judging by the fact that he still wore my ribbon as a bracelet, he never cared who saw our bond. Judging by how he banged the bed against the wall, he didn’t care who misunderstood what we did together. 

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was ready to issue a statement confirming that I loved Taemin. I wasn’t even ready to tell the rest of the members or Mom. The issue wasn’t that I doubted my feelings, and I had outgrown my doubts about his attachment to me. I just enjoyed our private, intimate connection. Maybe— I thought in the bathroom— I would never want to share it with others. 

But if someone other than Lucas and Kai had to know about me and Taemin, I was glad it was Taeyong. He wouldn’t tell anybody. He wouldn’t lecture us about the rules and responsibilities of being idols. 

I just nodded, and Taemin explained, “I don’t want to call you mine in some jealous, possessive sort of way.” He flicked his bangs out of his eyes. “Actually, it’s less about wanting to call you mine and more about wanting you to call me yours.”

That’s something I’ve always struggled to accept: the idea of calling somebody— a whole individual— mine. I know some people are infatuated with the idea of ownership, but that kind of dynamic has always made my skin crawl. 

I must have squirmed under Taemin’s stare. He lowered his face so it was level with mine, studying my eyes for my thoughts as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just those words— mine and yours—” I cringed, and Taemin dropped my hands. “I don’t know. I think it’s fine to call you my soulmate or my boyfriend, if that’s what you are, but the thought of calling you— all of you— mine just seems wrong.”

Seeming unsure of what to do when he wasn’t holding my hands, Taemin scratched at the back of his neck. “You know, Lei, you think really deeply about things that others don’t think twice about.” 

For a moment, something crumbled in my chest because I thought he was criticizing me. That horrible loss of breath was exactly why I was always afraid to care about what others thought of me even if their opinions were positive. I could never stop wondering what happens when somebody who admires you changes their mind. 

That moment when I thought Taemin was changing his mind was worse than I imagined. 

Then, he returned my breath with a smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I really love that about you. That means when you decide to be my girlfriend, you’ll really mean it.”

Taemin took my breath with him when he walked out of the bathroom.

  


With a wink, Mom broke the silence that defined most of our ride to grandma’s house. “Are you texting Lucas over there?”

Mom rarely got to be my mother without being my manager, so I guessed that teasing me about Lucas— who she apparently thought was my boyfriend— was her way of acting like a playful parent. That’s why I tried not to roll my eyes. That’s why I tried not to yell (as I had in the parking deck) that I wasn’t grinning at my phone like an idiot because of Lucas. 

First, there was the issue that Mom hadn’t believed my years of denying romantic attraction to Lucas. Second, and more importantly, I couldn’t explain that I was all giddy because of some goofy Snapchat conversation with Taemin. 

I didn’t exactly delight in being secretive. Some part of me wanted to tell Mom all about the camping trip where Taemin took my ribbon, the night in the garden where he held me and gave me a broken rose, the plane ride where we listened to “Could’ve Been” for hours, our hotel rooms across America where I learned to be honest and fell asleep to the comforting pounding of his heart. Some part of me wanted to tell her about the moments that occupied most of my heart— the heart she created. 

I think I opened my mouth to tell her despite the voice in my mind warning that she, as my manager, would separate me from Taemin (and then there would be no more late night conversations, no more all-night embraces). All that came out of my mouth, though, was “I’m sorry I didn’t hang up on Donghae.”

The words didn’t fall out of my mouth until we were seated at Grandma’s dining room table, after she peeled back the white lace tablecloth and served lunch— chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese because that was my childhood favorite.

I hadn’t meant to say them. 

Mom’s eyes widened. Maybe she wanted to scold me for bringing **_that_** up in front of Grandma, but she didn’t say anything. 

While Mom picked at her food with a fork, Grandma sat in her rocking chair. “Why would you hang up on Donghae, sweetie? I love that boy just as much as I love your little Lucas friend.”

Meet my Grandma, the only person in the entire world who didn’t know me as an idol. The only person in the whole world who believed that Lucas and I were just friends. (Well, maybe she suspected that we could have been more, but Grandma respected me enough to keep her suspicions hidden behind a warm smile.)

Mom still said nothing as she dropped her wide-eyed stare at her place, face reddening at Donghae’s name. That was the first time I had gotten a good look at her face when Donghae was mentioned; it was obvious to me, as somebody in love, how she felt. 

Although she probably already knew, I told her, “He had no right to call so late and try to lecture you, just like he had no right to burst into our house after he drove me home from the party.” 

The color drained from Mom’s face when Grandma asked, “Why did Donghae have to drive you home?” while stuffing her mouth full with macaroni. 

I had justified running my mouth because Mom always told Grandma everything. Or, at least, that’s how I assumed Grandma knew what was happening on the opposite end of the world before I got to tell her. I figured Grandma already knew about Donghae’s birthday fiasco. 

My stomach tied in knots as Mom bit into her lower lip before answering, “I didn’t go to the party, Mom.” And before Grandma could ask her favorite question (“Why?”), Mom lied, “Because I was sick.”

I don’t know why that bothered me so badly. Better than anybody, I should have understood, respected, and appreciated Mom’s right to privacy. After all, how many secrets was I keeping from her in that moment? How many secrets did I try to keep even from Lucas?

That was different, though, or so I told myself. I kept my secrets from Mom (the manager) and Lucas (the idol). The fact that Mom could lie to Grandma (her mother) and me (her daughter) made me sick. If Mom couldn’t tell the truth here among family, could we tell the truth anywhere?

My fork clattered against my plate. “Mom, I know why you didn’t go to the party, so you don’t have to keep lying. I know that you didn’t want Donghae to confess to you again. I know that you’re trying to hide that you’re the idol who never debuted—”

Mom and Grandma drew the same deep gasp, and I understood all at once why this matter was such a heavy secret: Mom was **_protecting_** me from the truth. If she had it her way, maybe, I never would have known anything about her past. 

Mom’s fork clattered against her plate, and she held her face in her hands as she realized what I had been too uncomfortable to admit: I knew who she was. 

Grandma set her teacup down on its saucer to wonder aloud, “How do you know that?”

And my heart hurt as it pounded against my ribcage. I should have told Mom sooner. I should have apologized sooner. I didn’t believe my excuses that there really hadn’t been enough time— that I really hadn’t known what to say. 

I wanted nothing more than to tear my eyes from Mom’s horrified expression— to forget that I had caused this— but I couldn’t. Hoping that she would meet my eyes, I stared at her and quietly explained, “I heard you two arguing after the party. I’m sorry.” 

Simultaneously, Mom and Grandma said, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And I supposed I should have at least tried to believe them. But I couldn’t. I thought I was about to throw up all over the table. 

The problem with honesty: once you start telling the truth, you can’t stop. 

The problem with apologies: once you start apologizing, you can’t stop. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that crazy ass Baekhyun has been planning to use your Donghae/Debut drama to blackmail you into being EXO’s manager. I’m sorry that I’ve known all of your secrets without permission. I’m sorry that I kept you from making your debut because you would have been the best idol, and—”

Would I have ever stopped vomiting apologies?

I didn’t realize that I was crying until Grandma looked from Mom, who was too stunned to speak, to me, who couldn’t seem to shut up, and walked over to hold my head against her abdomen. That embrace should have soothed me, but I could only curse myself for never realizing that I was upset until I was breaking. I could only think that **_nothing_** was as it should have been. 

On the surface, I knew that I shouldn’t have been spending the anniversary of my debut crying in Grandma’s dining room. I shouldn’t have spent the few minutes that nobody was watching me in a fit of tears, but I always did. Always. 

Deeper, Mom shouldn’t have been hurt by her fight with Donghae. There never even should have been a fight with Donghae because in any other version of the universe, they were together, and she wasn’t a manager because she was an idol, and I—

Mom had a talent for breaking silences. “Lei.” She wouldn’t continue until I pulled my face out of Grandma’s sweater to look at her. “You didn’t keep me from debuting. I chose not to debut. Maybe it wasn’t the most rational decision, but I would make the choices that created you in every version of the universe.”

From the gentle smile on her face, it was clear that Mom was not mourning everything that could have been. Could she not feel, like I did, that everything was wrong?

No. No, I knew my mom. I knew her long before I saw her as the idol who never debuted. She had eyes that found possibilities where others saw none. There was no way that she hadn’t considered how the last 21 years of her life had been affected by my existence.

So how could she look at me like I hung the moon when she missed out on so much because of me? 

I couldn’t understand, and that made me cry harder. 

Combing her fingers through my hair, Grandma told me, “You are the fulfillment of every dream. You always have been. You don’t have to understand that truth, but I wish you would believe it.”

I was the fulfillment of every dream? How? Why? I couldn’t understand these words Grandma and Mom gave me so easily. 

It occurred to me that they must have loved me beyond all comprehension. Why?

What was it Taemin said that first night in the hotel? **_“I don’t know why. I don’t think it matters why.”_** Those words hadn’t comforted me when he said them, so why did they echo in my mind in that moment when I was most in need of a comforting thought? I don’t know. 

Mom stood from her seat to join me and Grandma. Rubbing a cold hand along my neck, she promised, “Everything will be okay.” Mom always spoke with this certainty that I never understood because I never quite possessed it myself.

I wanted so badly to believe Mom, I nodded my head and wiped my eyes. 

After she and Mom returned to their seats, Grandma kept looking at me like I was crumbling into a million pieces, so I didn’t say anything else about Donghae until Mom and I were in the car on our way, I assumed, back to the hotel. 

Watching as individual trees transformed into blurs outside the window, I tried to make things right. “You know, if you ever decide to date Donghae, I’ll forgive him for acting like such a weirdo lately— you know, when he called me right after the love of my life Na Jaemin told me I could hit him up.” 

Mom’s jaw dropped. With traffic being as bad as it was, she really shouldn’t have cut her eyes at me. “Lei! You can’t hit Jaemin up! Lucas isn’t going to like that!”

I realized then that nothing had changed between us. Maybe nothing could change anything between us. When Mom untied the knots in my stomach with her smile, I thought that maybe Taemin was my soulmate because he decided to be, but Mom and I— we were truly bonded by whatever force created the universe. 

She reached for my hand, and I teased, “I wouldn’t judge you if you still like Donghae after his weird tantrums. He’s kinda cute.”

Mom snorted. “Good to know. And I won’t judge if you kiss Lucas the second we meet him and the other SuperM members at this karaoke bar.”

**Shit.** So we weren’t going back to the hotel? Panicking, I fished my emergency makeup bag out of the glove compartment while Mom laughed, I’m sure, because she thought I was dolling myself up to kiss Lucas. 

  


I don’t think that Taemin wanted to be outdone by Mark, but as far as gifts went, I couldn’t imagine how anything might compare to NCT Dream’s live. 

Still dressed in a blue schoolgirl outfit— undeniably prettier than I had ever been— and still grinning from ear to ear because he won that silly competition about performing my debut stage, Taemin led me by the hand to our room from the elevator. Evidently, he really didn’t care who might have seen. 

After closing the door with a gentle click, Taemin pointed over to the nightstand and grinned. “There’s your gift.” Without another word, he ducked into the bathroom (I guessed) to remove his makeup, change into his pajamas, and untie my ribbon from his hair. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I decided that I should wait for Taemin to return to open the most recent surprise I hadn’t expected. However, when I stole an excited glance at the nightstand, I saw that there was nothing to unwrap. 

In a clear vase stood a dozen roses— half lavender and half white. Forgetting my original plan to wait for Taemin, intoxicated by the flowers’ scent, I reached for the handwritten note. I guess I couldn’t wait to know what it said. 

_**Lei,** _

_**I told you I would get you more roses, didn’t I? Don’t worry— they won’t die for a very long time! They’re called eternity roses! I’m not sure how long an eternity is for a flower, but I guess we’ll find out together, huh?** _

_**Did you know that roses’ meanings depend on their color? I learned that today. The florist said that white is the color for purity and secrecy. We’re pure and the best secret, right? Lavender symbolizes love at first sight. That’s us too, right?** _

_**Please know that every night and every day since our first night in the garden has been like forever for me. Please stay close to me.** _

_**Happy Debut Anniversary!** _

_**— Your Taemin** _

For some reason, I didn't cringe at the word ‘your’ that night as I had that morning. For some reason, when Taemin walked out of the bathroom and bashfully smiled at me, I forgot that I had waited patiently for hours for an opportunity to tell him about my come apart in Grandma’s dining room. For some reason, when I wrapped my arms around Taemin’s waist and buried my beaming face in the warm crook of his neck, we were the only people in the world. 

I loved the world this way.


	10. The Light in the Darkness

**Lei’s POV**

The night before our Atlanta concert, while everybody was gathered in his room to watch the conclusion to his and Mark’s Mario Kart Tournament, Baekhyun decided that we weren’t having the “real Atlanta experience” unless we ate some of the local food together. 

“Come on Lei!” Baekhyun said before dragging me off his bed, where I sat, laughing with Lucas when Mark took the title of champion after Baekhyun’s attempts to cheat failed. “We haven’t bonded since the camping trip!”

From the way he smiled during our ride in the elevator and while holding open the door to his car (another perk of being the leader: having independent means of transportation) for me, I expected that Baekhyun had whisked me away from the group to taunt me about Momhae. 

The closest he came to teasing, though, was wiggling his eyebrows as he asked, “What’s the matter, Lei? Did I interrupt an important romantic conversation with Lucas?” Baekhyun looked so much like a little boy as he situated himself behind the steering wheel, I had to laugh at him. “Okay. So where are we going, Lei?”

Glancing at the time blinking on the radio display, Baekhyun sighed. “Well, shit, what’s even open at this hour?”

It was only 9 o’clock. Maybe it was a starless night, or maybe the city lights drowned out the stars. Still, I tried to look for anything in the sky— Baekhyun even reached up to slide some part of the ceiling to reveal an overhead window— as I answered, “A lot is open, Baek. Atlanta’s a busy city, ya know?”

I found the moon— full and distant— and Baekhyun asked, “Well, what do you want to eat?”

“What do you think the others would like?” Feeling like Baekhyun was looking at me, and therefore probably making some goofy face, I glanced over at him and was surprised to find that he was focused intently on the road ahead. 

He shrugged. “Who cares what they want?” Then, as if he hadn’t dragged me along on his nighttime adventure without giving anyone else a chance to tag along, Baekhyun said, “If they wanted to have a say-so, they should have come with us.”

Baekhyun flashed that goofy grin again, and I bit back my laughter to admit that my favorite restaurant was probably Buffalo Wild Wings. So that’s where we went, and that’s where Baekhyun discovered the “Blazin’ Wings Challenge” and decided that it would be absolutely hilarious to prank everyone with the hottest wings served. 

Maybe I should have done more to discourage his chaos. Maybe he wouldn’t have listened to me anyway. Maybe I was a little too surprised that he ordered chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks— my all-time favorite— for me (without having been prompted) to say anything. 

Anyway, Baekhyun concealed his laughter pretty well until everyone, initially excited that we returned with food, shrieked after taking bites into their wings. 

“What’s the matter?” Baekhyun chuckled from his place beside me on the carpeted floor. “I got the mildest ones on the menu! All of you are just sensitive!”

Taeyong was the only person who could take the heat. Wiping sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin, he asked, “Have you guys noticed that something is going on with Momager lately?” The tremor in his lips was probably less of a reaction to the food and more an expression of concern. 

When Taeyong’s eyes met mine, a faint pink blush painted along the bridge of his nose, and he stifled a giggle by pretending to choke on his mouthful. This— giggling when he looked at me— was the closest he ever came to acknowledging face to face that he knew about me and Taemin. 

Taeyong’s giggle prompted me to look at Taemin. Sitting beside Kai (always) he met my gaze, subtly panicked. Kai, whose lips were swollen and stained red from the hot sauce, also gawked at me with tear-filled eyes. I wondered why he didn’t stop eating considering his reaction; he must have been hungry. 

Lucas, surprisingly, was the most discreet in studying my reaction to Taeyong’s question. He only dropped a half-eaten wing into its box, licked his fingers clean, and glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes as he propped his head on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. 

I didn’t have to look at Baekhyun to know that he was looking at me, holding his cheeks in his hands and watching the chaos unfold with mischievous sparkles in his eyes. I guess he was just as delighted with mayhem when he wasn’t its source. 

The five of us: Taemin, Kai, Lucas, Baekhyun, and I knew what (or, more accurately, who) was on Mom’s mind. It was just a matter of discovering who would spill the beans. I had a good idea of who it would be. 

Before Baekhyun quite had a chance to speak, Ten’s eyes widened curiously. “What do you mean?”

Taeyong shrugged. As if he hadn’t been worried enough to bring up Mom in the first place, he tried to lessen the situation’s urgency by calmly explaining, “I don’t know. She just frowns a lot these days, and she seems a little out of it. Do you think she’s feeling okay?”

Mark’s face was scarlet and sweating. His shifting eyes looked at me and reminded me that he witnessed Mom and Donghae’s phone call argument in the van. He didn’t know details, but Mark wasn’t nearly as oblivious as I would have liked him to be. 

At first, Mark didn’t say anything. He tried to bite down on his lips, but once it was clear that nobody was going to answer Taeyong, Mark reasoned, “Momager is probably just feeling tired. You know, we’re getting pretty close to Christmas break. We all need the time to recharge, right?”

While Taeyong and Ten agreed with identical nods, I beamed at Mark for thinking of such a rational explanation. Maybe he would always try to make up for his comment in that interview even though I didn’t think he needed to. 

Despite being grateful to Mark for allowing me to hold on to Mom’s secrets a little longer, I was starting to feel exhausted by the grip I clung to them with. Mom probably didn’t want SuperM to know all of her personal business— although she had a stunning lack of reaction when I told her that Baekhyun was trying to blackmail her— and I wasn’t dying to explain it to them or anything, but since the Great Come Apart in Grandma’s dining room, it seemed like the secrets that once towered over me, glowered down at me, threatened to define me were as tiny as a speck of dust. 

It was true. Mom was the idol who never debuted. But she was so much more. She was the one who could fix anyone’s problem. She was the one every idol knew and loved. 

More importantly, she was the person I admired most in all the world because, well, she had always been there. Mom was there before any spotlight. Mom’s eyes were trained on me before anyone else’s, and her eyes were never critical. My mom— she was beautiful— and everything I was was a reflection of her. 

I had been considering what it meant to be the fulfillment of her dreams, and it meant that I couldn’t be afraid. It meant I didn’t have to be. There was liberation in the fact that I could be confident in the truth that no matter what anybody in that hotel room, in the country, in the whole world even (!) said or thought or did, I now knew who I was. I knew who Mom was. I knew that no matter what— come what may— we would love each other forever. 

All along, I had the forever love I couldn’t admit to wanting, and that’s why I didn’t wince or roll my eyes or sigh or feel the slightest tremor in my chest when Baekhyun said, “Maybe Mom caught whatever bug kept her from Donghae’s party.” Baekhyun’s tongue darted between his lips to lick at the hot sauce gathered around his smile. 

I can’t explain why I didn’t feel any sort of rage toward Baekhyun even as Taemin, Kai, Lucas, and Mark cut their eyes at him. I don’t understand why I almost laughed at Baekhyun’s childish little smirk. “Yeah. Maybe she did.”

I don’t understand why Baekhyun was not at all surprised by my reaction. His smile only grew into something a little more genuine before I looked away, distracted by Ten’s gasp. 

Ever the gossip, Ten leaned forward and shrieked, jaw dropped, “She didn’t go to Donghae’s party?”

Seeming to sense my lack of anxiety, Lucas laughed and launched a particularly greasy fry at Ten who, of course, caught it in his mouth with a smirk. “You would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy drinking and dancing like an idiot with Hendery!”

“Wait.” Taeyong’s eyebrows knit together. “Is Momager sick? Donghae’s party was just before we left. What if she didn’t have time to recover? All this touring can’t be good for her health, and—”

Baekhyun caught my eyes briefly before blurting, “Obviously, Taeyong, Mom was faking.” He patted Taeyong’s shoulder. “No need to waste your empathy on a fake illness!”

Mark shook his head. “Nah, man. There’s no way. Mom loves Super Junior. She wouldn’t skip the party unless she really had to.” Raising his eyebrows at me, Mark wordlessly asked, “Right, Lei?”

At that, everybody turned to face me. 

And I didn’t know what to say. 

Taemin spoke up softly, lips still pretty despite being painfully swollen from Baekhyun’s silly hot wing prank. “I think we should mind our own business.”

Although Kai seconded, “Yeah,” with the slight nod of his head, Baekhyun argued, “You can’t blame the others—” he pointed at Ten, Taeyong, and Mark— “for wanting to know about Momhae’s 15 years of unrequited love!”

If looks could kill, Taemin would have murdered Baekhyun with a glance. I wonder what Taemin might have said had Lucas not made me laugh by jumping to his feet to debate, “Dude, that love is totally requited!”

I knew my reaction to this situation was wrong because Baekhyun and I were the only people laughing. I thought he sat next to me to set my world ablaze, but when he doubled over in laughter and laid his head of floppy blonde hair in my lap atop my polka-dotted pajama bottoms, I almost wanted to imagine that Baekhyun was there to encourage my laughter. That wasn’t the first time we laughed together in the wrong place at the wrong time, but as I cradled my face in my hands, I thought maybe it had been too long since the last time. 

Kicking at us, Kai growled, “What the hell is wrong with you two? Get off of Lei, Baekhyun. Idiot.”

Baekhyun sat upright, likely spurred when I started bouncing my leg. “Sorry,” he said insincerely, “that was just hilarious!” Moments passed in relative silence before Baekhyun hummed, “What were we talking about?”

Taeyong’s face was contorted in bewilderment. “What the hell is a Momhae?”

Still standing over everyone, Lucas crossed his arms. As if it were obvious— and maybe it was— Lucas answered, “Mom and Donghae.”

“That’s a good ship name,” Mark assessed. 

And Baekyun smiled. “Thanks! I came up with that!”

Ten cocked his head to the side. “Wait. Why did Baekhyun know about Momhae before I did?”

“Yeah.” I turned to face Baekhyun, and he almost distracted me with a funny face. “How did you find out about Mom and Donghae? Sehun didn’t tell you. He promised not to tell you if Donghae told him anything.”

Baekhyun raised his eyebrows and asked through pouting lips, “Are you sure Sehun’s really loyal to you?”

Without hesitating, I firmly nodded my head. At that point, for some reason, there was no doubt in my mind that Sehun hadn’t aided in Baekhyun’s quest for information. Maybe I wanted so badly to believe that Sehun was my ally— that we were somehow friends— that there was no room to question his motives. 

“How romantic!” Baekhyun squealed and pinched my cheeks. When I kept staring at him, demanding an explanation for his knowledge, Baekhyun’s grin faltered. He, who I never knew to speak in anything other than a bright shout, mumbled, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The others had descended into chatter among themselves, so I challenged Baekhyun, troubled by the absence of mischief in his eyes. “Try me. You’ve been chaotic enough lately that I think you owe me an explanation or two.” 

Baekhyun stared at me blankly. Once I smiled, he laughed. “I—”

His voice fell off as we felt Taemin’s eyes on us. Taemin’s stare wasn’t jealous— why would it be?— or in any way disapproving, but Baekhyun seemed to find something in it that I couldn’t. Shaking his head, Baekhyun huffed, “Maybe some other time, Lei.”

My simultaneous intrigue and disappointment at the ambiguity of Baekhyun’s answer— my frustration that he was always impossible to understand— was all short-lived. Across the room, Taemin’s eyes crinkled fondly as Kai muttered something to him, and suddenly I was too breathless to notice anything or anybody else. 

I was too breathless to notice that Ten was talking to me until he crouched in front of me and flicked the center of my forehead. “Hey! I was talking to you! Stop gawking at your boyfriend and answer me!”

Taemin and I drew gasps that were suspicious enough before Lucas yelled, “Taemin and Lei aren’t dating!”

Ten might have been joking around about having caught me staring at Taemin, but Lucas’s outburst couldn’t have made our relationship more obvious. As Ten smirked at having accidentally stumbled upon a truth, Baekhyun barked, “Just repeat your dumb question, Ten! Nobody wants to hear about Taemin and Lei’s love life!”

It wasn’t like Baekhyun to pass on an opportunity to make me squirm, but I was too grateful that he used his authority as the leader to silence Ten to meet his eyes. I was so relieved that I could only fix my sight on Ten in anticipation of his question when Mark mumbled, “I don’t know. I kinda wanna know what’s going with Lei and Taemin.”

After Taeyong hushed Mark by placing a hand on his shoulder, and Ten swallowed his desire to tease me after shooting a glance at Baekhyun, Ten asked, “So what’s our plan to make Momhae a reality?”

I wheezed. “What?”

There was no plan. I didn’t believe in meddling in others’ personal affairs. Mom had her reasons for rejecting Donghae’s confessions all those years, and it was not my place to force her to reconsider. 

If you really want to know my opinion, I didn’t approve of Donghae’s recent behavior. I think maybe some people liked to be chased, but I have always thought that it takes love to accept “no” as an answer. I have always thought there was a certain beauty in saying “not yet.” There was something special about believing that destiny doesn’t have to be forced. 

Everything in me balked at the idea of forcing the hand of fate. 

Besides, Mom was capable of pursuing Donghae when she was ready. Evidently, he was just a phone call away. Maybe he was getting desperate in those days, but I imagined that if he were capable of moving on, he would have already. 

I didn’t know if Mom and Donghae would end up together. I just wanted to believe that if they were meant to be, they would. I wanted to believe that I wouldn’t lose any sleep if they were strained for the rest of our lives. Above all, I knew that I didn’t want to help SuperM make real emotions into a joke. 

Maybe they weren’t trying to make it a joke, though.

Looking like he stood on the brink of tears, Mark confessed, “I don’t think I can live comfortably knowing that Donghae has been pining after Momager for 15 years. That’s a long time to walk around with a broken heart.”

All at once, it hit me that 15 years was most of my life. In my loyalty to Mom, had I forgotten those sad dimples that formed in Donghae’s chin when he realized that she hadn’t come to his birthday party? Had I forgotten how his voice wavered when he vowed to fix whatever kept them apart? 

Mark’s empathy for Donghae reminded me of mine. 

“Well I’m concerned about Mom!” Lucas’s eyes were rounded. He also looked like he was about to cry. Maybe it wasn’t just a topic of gossip for him. “Just look at Donghae! There’s no way she hasn’t fallen for him. And even if I’m wrong— even if she doesn’t love him the way he loves her— do you really think she doesn’t feel the burden of breaking his heart?”

I told you: I never stopped being surprised at how perceptive Lucas was. 

I opened my mouth to tell him that Mom was okay. And even if she wasn’t right now, she would be. He didn’t have to hug his knees like that. He didn’t have to frown like that. He didn’t have to squeeze my heart with his sadness like that. It would be okay. 

Taeyong, the sole voice of reason, dictated, “Of course, it’s all very sad, but we are not getting involved in Momager’s personal business.” 

Ten, Mark, and Lucas groaned in discontent, so Taeyong looked to Baekhyun for support. 

But before Baekhyun could assert his opinion on the matter, Mom burst through the door. “Baekhyun, where is—” Mom must have found or forgotten what she was looking for. Her question changed. “What are all of you doing in here? It’s past curfew.”

Mom didn’t pause long enough for anyone to answer. She waved a hand dismissively. “Nevermind. All of you, go back to your— Oh my God! Kai, are you okay?”

Following her concerned gaze, I saw that Kai’s face had swollen red, especially around the lips. Is that why he had gone so silent? I worried that he was having an allergic reaction until he replied in a normal voice, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Probably concerned that Kai’s face wouldn’t return to normal before tomorrow’s concert, Mom sighed raggedly. “Okay. Good.” 

Nobody stood to return their rooms, so she put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at our defiance. “Seriously, guys, go to bed! Why are none of you even meeting my eyes?”

I had been searching Mom’s face for confirmation that she was okay. A glance around the room revealed that everybody was staring guiltily at their empty to-go boxes. They were reacting as I had when I first learned pieces of Mom’s identity; they were trying to reconcile Mom the manager with Mom the human, who felt love and heartache. 

When they looked up from their puzzle pieces to look to Baekhyun to answer as their leader, they probably didn’t expect him to ask without any trace of a grin, “Ma’am, are you ever going to accept Donghae’s confession?”

If Mom was surprised by Baekhyun’s question, I couldn’t tell from her mere blinking. She wasn’t the same person who stood motionless in the dance studio just months ago when Baekhyun alleged that she was the idol who never debuted. I wondered if she was proud to seem more human to us. I wondered if she found more pieces of herself; I wondered if she loved them as much as I did. 

Mom must have been moved by our genuine concern. “Thank you for asking, Baekhyun, but it’s really none of your business.”

Baekhyun’s lips tucked into a thin frown as he nodded his head. 

“Now go to bed,” Mom instructed softly. “We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

And so the others, as they rose to unsteady feet, understood that there was nothing they could say or do rush the hands of fate. Silently, we understood that we could only hope that things would work out in the way we imagined was best. 

I don’t know why that truth, which had existed since the dawn of time, took our breath away. I think the truth must be different once you know it. I think none of us felt quite as helpless as we did when we parted ways to return to our rooms. 

Laying my head against Taemin’s chest, I said, “Everything will be okay.” My voice wasn’t quite mine, though, because I was just repeating what Mom told me in Grandma’s dining room. I told myself that wanting to believe is as good as believing, but they were never the same thing. 

Taemin repeated, “Everything will be okay.” His voice was the light in the darkness. I thought that if I just stayed close to Taemin, I could learn to burn that bright. 

  


  


  



	11. The Name I Loved

**Lei’s POV**

“You know, Lei,” Lucas grumbled from his place in my closet, “there was a time in our lives when everything you owned was black!”

He stepped out to face me and Grandma. We were sitting on my bed and discussing— of all things— Taemin, who she agreed was the most beautiful person in the world after attending the Atlanta concert. Lucas looked so sad, eyes hooded and lips drawn into a tight frown, that I still couldn’t roll my eyes at his insistence to dress us both as if Mom’s annual Christmas party were a funeral. 

Unable to scold Lucas for interrupting just as she was about to ask, winking, if Taemin and I were ‘friends’ off-stage, Grandma took in his appearance. Already dressed in his all-black suit, Lucas stared down at his shiny black shoes as Grandma delicately asked, “Why are you wearing black to a Christmas party anyway, sweetie?”

Given my general lack of support for Ten’s suggested dress code, I didn’t consider myself the best spokesperson. Lucas seemed to glance at me for permission to speak, so I just nodded my head and fixed my gaze on a hanging poster of Donghae. 

I couldn’t take it down, and yet I couldn’t live comfortably with it staring at me like that. Donghae’s picture smiled so warmly that you could never guess that he carried the weight of rejection for over a decade. Is it okay for a picture to lie like that? Or was that smile genuine? 

All I could wonder was whether Donghae would bring me another strawberry milkshake the next time I was at the studio. All I could wonder was whether those days were behind us— if I had appreciated them enough to be able to let them go without regret— as Lucas replied, “We’re in mourning.”

Lucas’s tone was so hollow, Grandma faced me with deepened concern, patting my knee to offer some comfort. 

“Everything will be okay, Grandma.” I believed it because I had to. I believed it because I couldn’t stomach how Grandma was looking at me (like she had in her dining room). “My group members found out about Mom and Donghae, so they’re wearing black to express how sad it is that they’re not together.”

While Grandma blinked, eyebrows gathering together, and Lucas disappeared into my closet again, I repeated something that Kyungsoo said when I confided in him under Christmas lights. “For some people—” I thought of Lucas and Mark— “this is kind of like their first heartbreak, even if it isn’t really theirs. This demonstration may seem a little goofy to us, but—”

Maybe Mom and Donghae represented a fate that sort of awaited all of us as idols. Maybe the others were mourning what we already knew, what we didn’t like to acknowledge: we couldn’t love out loud. Many of our loves were worse than unrequited; they were unexpressed or unexplored because— how can you fall in love when someone’s always watching?

Maybe the others found their reflection in Mom and Donghae. Maybe that’s what empathy is. 

I guess Grandma didn’t need me to explain that. Before I could even try, she was running to the door, saying, “I guess I better go change then!” I was a little disappointed; I liked Grandma’s and Yesung’s tradition of wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. 

Perhaps feeling victorious at having gathered another person to his cause, Lucas emerged from my closet wearing a broad smile. I couldn’t be relieved to see his joyful expression because my eyes fell on the dress he was carrying. 

It wasn’t black. It was red. The dress I wore to Donghae’s party. 

“Lucas!” My breath caught in my throat as I sat, uncomfortably uptight, on the edge of my bed. “We have to burn that shit! It has bad juju!”

That was what I had been wearing the last time I saw Donghae— “maybe ever!” the dramatic voice in the back of my mind, which sounded too much like Lucas, screamed. That’s what I had been wearing when Donghae forced his way past Heechul into the house to confront Mom. That’s what I had been wearing when I ran up the stairs, away from their argument. That’s what I had been wearing when Mom yelled the world-reforming truth that she was the idol who never debuted. 

I didn’t want to know what terrible fate would befall the Christmas party if I wore that cursed dress.

But Lucas shook his head and argued, “This is what you wore when you found Taemin in your garden!”

Although I must have thought this once, twice, or every night on tour when I fell asleep in his arms, I was winded by the realization that what I considered the worst night of my life doubled as the beginning of a beautiful chapter: the time when Taemin and I were in love. 

So I wore that red dress. Not because Lucas thought it would bring Mom and Donghae together the way it brought me and Taemin together. Not because Lucas reasoned with a smirk, “You looked hot in this! And nobody really got to appreciate it because you left Donghae’s party early!” But because I wanted to see if it still fit. 

I don’t mean that literally. I hadn’t drastically gained weight during those two months of touring in America or anything. I just felt so different than I had been the last time I wore that dress. Wearing it again seemed like a good way to measure my growth. 

When I looked in the mirror, though, I didn’t look all that different. My hair was still short. Lucas had gone with me to get it trimmed before meeting Kyungsoo at the Mall. My eyes were still as wide and childlike as they had been when I debuted. My cheeks— almost permanently full and rosy— still gave me the appearance of someone wandering between childhood and adulthood. 

But there was no longer anything forced in my smile, painted with ruby lipstick. My hands were not balled into resigned fists pinned at my sides. I was not at all anxious about having people from work— the members of SuperM— in my home for a party as I had been every year prior. I was different, even if I couldn’t see it. 

I wasn’t willing to look back on the past 21 years of my life and decide that I had never known happiness. There was something in me that refused to attribute this warmth in my chest— this total internal transformation— to Taemin. Maybe I was afraid that by doing so, I would give him the power to take that warmth away with him if ever he left my side. 

No. I wasn’t afraid of Taemin. I wasn’t afraid of the rising sun. It was impossible to deny that the seeds of self-discovery and self-love had been planted the night of Donghae’s party. They had been planted that night I watched the moon in the garden. I just didn’t know who was more responsible for changing me— Mom by giving me the truth or Taemin by giving me his love. 

But I don’t know that it really matters. What matters is that there was no room in my heart to mourn what could have been. Maybe this made me selfish (or maybe it didn’t), but I was too happy with what was to despair on behalf of Mom and Donghae. 

I let my guard down— no, I allowed Taemin to break my guard down, and he did it carefully and quickly and painlessly— and maybe that’s why I was so hurt by what happened at the party. Then again, maybe I would have been hurt even with all of my defenses in place. Who knows? 

Super Junior was a constant in my life, and they proved it by attending the Christmas party yearly. When I descended the staircase, I smiled at the fact that the first floor of my home was filled mostly by chaotic uncles who would drop everything to try to make me laugh. 

In the kitchen, Shindong and Leeteuk were constructing a gingerbread village. Although their only audience was Lucas and Mark— wearing their black suits— Leeteuk narrated every action as if he were starring in an international broadcast. 

Yesung, Kyuhyun, and Siwon monopolized the karaoke machine in the living room. They performed for Ten and Taeyong, who sat on opposite ends of a couch. Ten must have been angry because Taeyong wore a glittering red jacket that distracted from SuperM’s public mourning. 

As usual, Heechul was late. I’m not sure whether I was supposed to hope Donghae and Eunhyuk would arrive with him, but I held that hope quietly in the corner of my mind.

I hadn’t found Mom, Taemin, Kai, or Baekhyun before Siwon abandoned his duet with Kyuhyun— a comedic rendition of “Baby It’s Cold Outside”— to chase me. Longer than Lucas, Siwon lived to ruin my hair. 

“Merry Christmas!” Siwon cheered in my ear before Kyuhyun and Yesung screamed for him to return to the living room. 

As soon as Siwon turned away, I ran to hide in the corner of the dining room with Ryeowook (Wookie) and Grandma, who were giggling about who knows what over their fragile cups of tea. 

“Here, Lei.” Wookie beamed as he lifted the teapot— adorned with carefully painted red roses— to pour into the smallest cup, which he handed to me. My heart swelled at this familiar scene from my childhood when Wookie delicately clinked his cup against mine, winking as he extended his pinky. 

While I smiled into my drink, Wookie asked, “So how are you? Did you have the time of your life in America?”

“Yeah,” Grandma chimed, setting her cup onto its saucer. “Did anything fun happen in America?”

Grandma didn’t have to say anything specific to remind me of her earlier fascination with Taemin. She only wiggled her eyebrows, and I laughed so hard that tea shot out of my nose, leaving my face burning with each breath long after I put the cup down on the table. 

Surprised, confused, and amused by my onslaught of giggles and Grandma’s all-knowing chuckles, Wookie’s gaze flickered between us. He smiled politely. “I’ll go get napkins.”

But before Wookie could stand, Grandma shook her head. “No need.” 

There was most certainly a need, I wanted to argue as the warm beverage trailed down my chin. I bit my tongue, however, when (after following Grandma’s gaze) I saw that Taemin was filling the doorway bridging the dining room to the kitchen. 

I don’t know if I was more embarrassed by the fact that Taemin had apparently watched me snort tea or how goofily he danced over to me as Siwon’s and Kyuhyun’s duet started from the top. My heart fluttered so violently at the first sight of Taemin since returning home that I could barely stand looking at him. Still, I definitely couldn’t stand looking away. 

After gratefully accepting a napkin to wipe my face, careful not to smear my makeup, I couldn’t stop staring at Taemin. Admiring him. Trying to commit every detail of him to memory. Like the other members of SuperM, most of Taemin’s attire was black except for his festive red suspenders and matching tie. 

“Look!” Taemin giggled and leaned over my chair to drape his tie over the sleeve of my dress. “We match!”

As if we were back in one of our rooms in America, as if Grandma and Wookie weren’t watching us (after sharing a glance and taking long sips of tea)— Taemin pursed his lips and ran his thumb over my earring, a simple silver moon. “This is pretty.”

Blushing at the sensation of his breath against my skin, I mumbled, “I’m glad you think so.”

Was it really okay for him to be so close to me? We were among family— or at least I was— but I felt more embarrassed than I imagined I might have felt in a room full of strangers. All those years, I liked to remind people that I wasn’t a child; yet, I shrank at the thought of Wookie or Grandma or anybody else that I had known since youth seeing me as an adult. 

Before Taemin could show me any more affection and darken my blush, Yesung walked in from the living room, arms outstretched and expecting a hug. Perhaps flinching away from Taemin, I ran to greet Yesung, smiling. 

“Merry Christmas, Yesung! Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite?” 

“Only every day since we met!” Yesung smiled and patted my arm. He had always been receptive to that kind of praise. 

When I turned toward the table, not quite ready to return to my seat, Taemin had already settled into it. Maybe he had already introduced himself to Grandma. 

Yesung was asking if I remembered how I used to fight with other Super Junior members if they so much as looked at him the wrong way— as if I wouldn’t still throw punches on his behalf— when Grandma reached across the table to run her fingers along the ribbon tied to Taemin’s wrist. The sky blue didn’t quite match his red and black ensemble, so it stood out more than ever. 

Ever the charmer, Taemin placed his hand over Grandma’s and gave her a dazzling smile. With their eyes, they shared a conversation that I couldn’t quite understand until Taemin chirped, “It was a gift.”

My heart swelled with affection when Taemin met my eyes. I don’t know what I would have done— maybe I would have exploded from joy— had Yesung not distracted me by saying, “I got you the best present, Lei! Why don’t you go get it from under the tree?”

Wookie encouraged, “Go get my gift too, Lei!”

Wookie could have deceived me with his smile, but I gathered from how Yesung fixed narrowed eyes on Taemin that they caught on to our relationship. Whatever they had to say to him (probably the same speech they gave Lucas years ago when we first met) couldn’t have been said in front of me. 

I knew better than to try (and fail) to talk Yesung out of protective mode, so I nodded and obediently walked to the Christmas tree where I found Baekhyun plucking candy canes from the branches. 

“Oh!” He smiled brightly, the lights reflecting in his eyes. “Is it time for presents already?”

“Baekhyun!” Taking his suddenly black tresses between my fingers, I cried, “What did you do to your hair?” I shouldn’t have been shocked. We changed our hair all the time. 

“You don’t like it?” Baekhyun pouted and plucked a candy cane from his mouth. “Well, I guess I can’t do everything to impress you, Lei. This is a part of my mourning exercises.” 

Before I could respond, Baekhyun offered me one of his candy canes. “Here. I’ll give you your real gift when Sehun gets here.” 

“Sehun?” My heart dropped. I opened my mouth to complain that I didn’t want Sehun to come or, at least, to ask why he would show up without an invitation, but a knock sounded at the door. 

Baekhyun advised, turning back to the tree as he stuffed the peppermint back into his mouth, “You probably wanna get that, hm?”

Beyond words, I was grateful to Baekhyun for warning me of what I would find behind the door: Oh Sehun wearing an all-black suit and carrying two presents. It was probably a little rude to greet him with the question, “What are you doing here?” but I couldn’t keep the words from falling out of my mouth. 

Sehun rolled his eyes. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

Our unity against Baekhyun had dissolved. Leaning against the door frame, frowning at the line that formed between Sehun’s eyebrows, I guessed I was disappointed. 

“Would you let me in, please? It’s freezing out here!”

Snowflakes were falling all around him. If he weren’t already on my nerves— if he could just smile instead of scowling— the sight would have been worthy of a photograph. 

Realizing that I wouldn’t stand aside until he answered my question, Sehun admitted, voice a puff of white air in the winter night, “I’m here to represent Donghae and Eunhyuk, not because I want to spend Christmas arguing with you—”

**_Oh._** So Donghae wasn’t coming after all. So this would be the first Christmas that we wouldn’t drink hot chocolate together or make a snowman family in the front yard or watch Christmas movies until I fell asleep on the couch. 

_**Oh.**_ Tears gathered in my eyes, knowing that this crumbling, heart-stopping knowledge that life was different— and not only in good ways— occurred to Donghae when Mom was absent from his party. 

**_Oh_**. So that’s why Donghae had been able to justify pushing past Heechul and calling me in the middle of the night to talk to Mom. He was either trying to turn time back to the days we knew were happy or forward to the days when he and Mom could be together. It was impossible. Fruitless. But I didn’t fault him for trying. 

Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, wiping my eyes as I stood aside for Sehun to enter with his bad news, I think he tried to apologize. I’m not sure because I was too focused on Baekhyun, who appeared before me, smiling brightly with that candy cane still dangling out of his mouth and muffling his voice. 

“Come on, Lei.” He nodded down to the gifts in his hands. “Yesung, Ryeowook, and I want you to open your presents.”

Thinking only that I had to find Mom to tell her gently that Donghae wasn’t coming (if she didn’t already know), I shook my head, but Baekhyun forced the brightly wrapped packages into my arms. He slung an arm around my shoulders and ushered me away from Sehun, into the dining room.

I was only slightly relieved that Sehun didn’t follow. 

The smiles Grandma, Taemin, Wookie, and Yesung greeted me with faltered when they noticed the look on my face. I hadn’t found my smile yet, even with Baekhyun playfully nudging me in the ribs. 

Rising from his seat with hands balled into fists, Yesung demanded, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and forced a smile. “Nothing—” My gaze drifted out the window— “it’s just— snow makes me cry.” 

The lie wasn’t especially convincing, but at least Yesung sat down. 

I sat only when Taemin stood, poorly masking his concern, to offer the seat he had stolen earlier. Rather than relocating to one of the many empty chairs, Taemin remained behind me, leaning against the back of my chair to watch me open the first gift Baekhyun dropped onto my lap. I kind of grinned, realizing that whatever Yesung and Wookie said hadn’t scared Taemin away. 

To me, it seemed awkward that so many people watched as I peeled back the green wrapping on Wookie’s gift, but I guess that people watching me was just business as usual. Mark and Lucas— bonding in their shared grief— walked in from the kitchen, asking, “When was somebody gonna tell us it was time to watch Lei open presents?”

Feeling like I was trapped in a bizarre nightmare, I blinked until my eyes settled on Wookie’s gift: a beautiful blue teacup ornament. My fingers traced along the painted flower petals, cold to the touch. Wookie met my tear-filled expression with a smile that made my heart swell. Everyone— most loudly, Yesung and Baekhyun— cooed when I wiped my eyes and muttered my thanks. 

Pointing at the big box wrapped in bright red paper, Yesung instructed, “Open mine next!” Before I had even pulled out each record— one by Tiffany, one by Britney Spears, and one by the Backstreet Boys— Yesung said, “Don’t let me forget to send you the videos I got of each artist signing those and talking about how much they love your music!”

I wasn’t quite shocked because Yesung always got the best gifts, but I was beyond flattered that he had gone to such lengths to make me smile. As I beamed at Yesung, the ache in my chest caused by Donghae’s absence subsiding first with Wookie’s smile and then with Yesung’s enthusiastic thumbs up, Mark mumbled to Lucas, “Does this mean that my gift for Lei’s debut anniversary has finally been outdone?”

Lucas shrugged, grinning. “It’s hard to tell. Lei loves Jaemin—” Taemin breathed heavily behind me, and I shorted at the memory of his tantrum— “but Nick Carter, one of the Backstreet Boys, is like Lei’s ultimate pop icon crush.”

Taemin sat on the arm of my chair to admire my gifts— especially the album signed by Nick Carter— and Baekhyun yelled, “Where the hell is Sehun? I want you—” Looking at me, he chewed through the remainder of his candy cane— “to open our gift now!”

Summoned either by his name, or the dread swelling in my gut, or the rolling of my eyes, Sehun walked in from the kitchen. “Lei—” 

Sehun’s smirk faltered as his eyes fell on Taemin, whose shoulder was flush against mine.

For years, I dreamed of wiping the smirk from his face; then, once I learned how to, I tried to use my new power sparingly. That moment when Sehun forced his eyes away from Taemin to look at me, something very much like pain darkening his eyes, I squirmed at the thought that maybe he really did like me. 

Maybe it had been a game at the start. Maybe I had just been something fun to chase and tease. But to some degree, his feelings must have been sincere. Otherwise, a faint blush wouldn’t have painted his cheeks. He wouldn’t have had to swallow some lump in his throat before forcing himself to continue, “Don’t thank me too much if you like this.” 

Sehun snatched the silver-wrapped box from Baekhyun and forced it into my hands without meeting my eyes. “Baekhyun paid for half of it, so make sure you thank him too.” 

Knowing that Baekhyun and Sehun had joined forces had me on edge before this weird tension wedged between me and Sehun. I guess there had always been some tension between us; when I thought about it, I couldn’t clearly remember a moment that we had gotten along. I guess his sudden refusal or inability to look at me was just the fulfillment of years of— of whatever we were doing. 

I hated Sehun for ruining Christmas before he stood outside my door to say that Donghae wasn’t coming. I hated Sehun for staring down at the gift like that, lips tight in a frown. Except I guess I didn’t really hate him. Nobody wishes for someone they hate to just smile already. 

Taemin, still sitting on the arm of my chair, almost sitting in my lap, draped an arm around my shoulder. With a gentle smile and a nod, he reminded me to open the gift. 

It was an intricately woven mistletoe crown. A dreaded memory buried too deep, too terrible to describe— the memory some part of me relived whenever Sehun looked at me and teased me— rose to the surface of my mind and stained my face scarlet. 

I glared at Sehun, wondering why the hell he would get me something like that, but he didn’t notice. His widened eyes were fixed on the crown. He didn’t blink. Evidently, Baekhyun had been the brains behind this operation, and Sehun had only funded it. 

Again, we were united in annoyance toward Baekhyun. I wasn’t even happy about that because it had never been clearer to me that Sehun and I— whatever we were— were not friends. 

When I tore my burning eyes away from Sehun, unsure of what to say, I caught the briefest glimpse of Mom dropping something onto the kitchen counter, gasping, before running up the stairs. It always amazed me how quickly she could move in those heels without tripping over the hem of her pantsuit— this time a deep shade of green. 

This time, I was stunned by the realization that nobody had been with her in the kitchen. Everyone was either too busy singing and laughing in the living room or watching me open presents. Mom was alone. Always alone. 

Cursing Heechul for being late, I started to rise to my feet only to be immobilized by Taemin’s voice. “Oh,” he hummed into my ear as he lifted the mistletoe from its box. “It’s like a little wreath. Pretty.”

In Taemin’s hands, I thought as he admired the mistletoe, perhaps unaware that I was admiring him, it was pretty. 

Skipping over and snatching the mistletoe from Taemin to drop it onto my head unceremoniously, Baekhyun corrected, “It’s a crown!”

I’m not sure what led Sehun to try to kiss me, but I believe that Baekhyun must have instigated it because everything is a joke to them. 

One second, I was stealing indiscreet glances into the kitchen, wondering what Mom had dropped onto the counter and why it made her gasp, wondering how I would comfort her if it was related to Donghae (as I suspected) when some invisible force struck my heart and filled my eyes with tears every time I thought of him. The next, I was flinching as Lucas screamed “No!” and Sehun’s puckered lips inched closer to mine, agape in utter shock. 

Taemin yanked my chair back so quickly that I thought I was going to tumble face-first onto the hardwood floor. The room erupted into shrieks and giggles— the giggles belonging mostly to Mark and Baekhyun— as Taemin wedged his face between mine and Sehun’s. 

I don’t know why Taemin decided to intercept Sehun’s kiss when he could have just kissed me. On the one hand, I was grateful that our first kiss wouldn’t be the punchline to Baekhyun’s stupid mistletoe joke gift. Still, as I walked away, my entire being burned with annoyance— no, numb anger— that Sehun stole my first kiss.

From the kitchen, I heard Sehun’s gagging, Taemin’s goofy gasping laughter, Baekhyun’s maniacal cackling, and Yesung’s roar, “What the hell is going on around here?”

Maybe I could have found the humor in the situation had I not first found what Mom abandoned on the counter, still messy from crumbs, candy, and frosting that built Shindong’s and Leeteuk’s gingerbread village: a photograph of all of us— me, Mom, and Super Junior— shortly after Kyuhyun’s addition to the group. 

It must have been Donghae’s birthday. We all wore party hats while he wore an obnoxiously large pin that read: Birthday Boy. The picture must have been taken before Donghae’s annual confession; everyone was smiling, even Mom (who usually preferred a closed mouth half-grin). We all looked so young, especially me, wearing a ruffly blue dress, holding a teacup that matched Wookie’s, standing between Mom and Donghae, and staring at Yesung instead of whoever held the camera. 

My heart bled with the realization that we would never live in that moment again. It was in the past. And I don’t know that any of us appreciated it enough when it was our present. 

Once, I read that you only appreciate the value of a moment once it is a memory. That’s the kind of sentiment that I want to disagree with. The fear that it may be true inspired me to try to form myself into a person who seizes the day, who lives for right now, but I can’t quite do it. I can’t quite disagree with the truth. 

Let me be clear: there was never a day that I didn’t love Donghae. Never a day since he greeted me that first time with his warm smile (until those short-lived days of discomfort) that I hadn’t associated Donghae with fondness and security. Yet, I had never thought clearly or deeply about him— I hadn’t really seen him until I noticed his absence, until I felt him drifting away. 

I hate that this is the truth: I never knew how much I loved Donghae until I couldn’t call to tell him. 

It didn’t matter if he already knew. It didn’t matter that I would have gotten too shy or scared or embarrassed to tell him everything. It didn’t matter that I would always hold something back. I climbed the stairs, heavy with regret, clutching the picture frame against my chest. 

I wasn’t crying, I think, because some part of me expected to find Mom sobbing on her bed, face pressed into a pillow. The light was off, and I didn’t dare illuminate what I didn’t want to see— what I heard well enough. Stiff, silent, and awkward, I sat on the edge of the bed, tracing my fingertips along the elegant pattern on Mom’s silky pink comforter.

Of course, I knew that I couldn’t bring the photograph back to life. I knew that there was no merit in dreaming of turning back the hands of time, but I couldn’t shake the thought that if I could go back, I could lessen these present-tense pains. It didn’t make sense. 

How might things have been different had I known at age six or seven that Mom was a former trainee? Would I have looked at Donghae differently if I had known all that time that he wanted Mom to be in love with him? Had I known, would I have made all the decisions and formed all the relationships that led me to Taemin in the garden under the moonlight? 

I didn’t know. I don’t know. 

There was immense discomfort in realizing that I could never know. There was discomfort in believing, even as my mother moved to sob in my lap, that this was still the best version of the universe because this was where Taemin loved me. 

There was something bittersweet in accepting that even if this wasn’t the best timeline, even if this wasn’t the best reality, we couldn’t choose where we were born. I hadn’t chosen for life to be this way. There was nothing I could do to change our circumstances; we would have to learn to be happy because of or despite them. 

Mom said, “I understand that he—” I understood ‘he’ to mean Donghae— “doesn’t want to see me anymore. Outside of work, that’s his right.” Sitting upright, Mom revealed a small handwritten note in her palm. “But did he really have to send Sehun over here with that picture I gave him for his birthday and this note?”

Initially, my eyes fixated on the red thread bracelet on her wrist, trailing down closer to her elbow. I had never seen it (or anything like it) before. Swallowing the desire to ask where she had gotten the bracelet, I took the note and squinted to read the scrawled writing in the dark. 

It’s cruelty was simple. “Choose.”

My brow quivered. Choose what? To be with Donghae or not to be? It seemed to me that Mom made her choice. Regardless of some unspoken attraction to Donghae, she had chosen for fifteen years not to pursue that relationship. 

Maybe I just didn’t understand what might compel someone to beg for love, but I thought that at this point, Donghae was prolonging everyone’s misery. Maybe he just couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for Mom to reject him. Maybe the line between sorrow and anger, for me, had become too blurred in the recent chaos. 

I was overwhelmed by empathy for Donghae and for Mom. While I couldn’t divorce what I felt for one from what I felt for the other, I would have exploded from acknowledging both at the same time. Maybe because she was the one I understood better, maybe because she was the one crying before me, maybe because she had been with me longer, or maybe just because she was my Mom, the protective rage I felt on her behalf in that moment overshadowed every other emotion I had experienced in my entire life. 

I would have had to leave even if she hadn’t calmly instructed, “Go back to the party, Lei. Go have fun with your friends.” Maybe it’s selfish that I couldn’t work through my discomfort to be with her, but I couldn’t stand Mom’s tears. 

Even with her permission, I couldn’t quite move. I couldn’t quite leave her until she laid back on her pillow and added, “I just need some time alone to collect myself. I’ll be down soon.” 

Spurred by her encouragement, I left Mom’s room, but I didn’t return to the party. Clenching that stupid note in my fist, crinkling the lettering beyond recognition, and carrying the picture frame down at my side, I stormed into my bedroom. 

With little consideration of the fact that glass breaks, I slammed the picture face down onto the vanity that once housed the ribbon now donned on Taemin’s wrist. It’s only though some miracle that the metal frame didn’t shatter the mirror. 

The glass from the picture frame littered the vanity, crystallized around the vase of flowers Taemin gave me for my debut anniversary (where I had also placed his wilting rose from the garden), spilled onto the pale hardwood floor. I couldn’t even care because all I saw was Donghae’s smiling poster. All I knew was that I couldn’t have that anymore, couldn’t look at it anymore, couldn’t let it look at me for another second. 

A part of me that wasn’t satisfied with having destroyed only the picture frame wanted to rip the poster straight down the middle. It was only the tiniest fragment of my mind, but it was so loud that I—

I almost couldn’t hear that most of me sobbed at having shattered something so fragile and precious in a fit of rage, no matter how justified. Most of me wanted to run back to the vanity and try in vain to fit the pieces of glass back together, knowing well that it would never work— the frame would never be whole again, and I would only stain the photograph red with my blood. I just wanted to try to fix it because nobody wants to believe that they have broken something beyond repair. 

I didn’t race to the vanity, though. Trying (and failing) to steady my trembling hands, I plucked from the sky-blue painted walls each pin supporting Donghae’s poster. Although I let the pins hit the floor, I caught the poster in my arms just as Taemin filled the doorway behind me and asked, “Why are you taking Donghae’s poster down?”

It wasn’t the first time Taemin saw me cry. Objectively, that night wasn’t any worse than the night in the garden. This time, I wasn’t falling apart. Maybe you can’t fall apart once you know who you are. 

When Taemin walked into my room and sat on my bed, looking at me with concern that more closely resembled the curiosity he always reserved for me, I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Holding the poster out to him because I didn’t know what to do with it anymore, I explained that it was my first Christmas without Donghae, who returned an old photograph of us with that note I left crumbled on my vanity. 

I mumbled, covering my eyes with my hands, “It just hurts to look at him. I don’t want to think about these painful things while looking at him. I don’t want—”

Through my shallow sobs, I couldn't explain that I didn't want the actions of Donghae today to define the Donghae of yesterday, of every day past. Maybe I didn’t know the words to describe my fear that these feelings of rage, bewilderment, and the all-encompassing sense of having been abandoned by another father would permanently taint what I hoped beyond all hopes could be salvaged. 

After folding the poster and laying it gently against my pillow, Taemin crossed the distance between us, enveloped me in his arms, and promised again and again— until the words almost lost all meaning— “It will be okay. Everything will be okay.” 

I wanted to believe Taemin and feel content to stay in his arms, but I had to do something with the rage bubbling in my gut. I couldn’t express that I was tired of waiting for the day when everything would feel okay. Apologizing, I untangled myself from his arms and barreled down the stairs into the party that was as jovial as it had been when Mom first left to mend her own broken heart. 

The goal had been to find Lucas. Feeling better always started with Lucas. 

The problem was that I found Sehun first, back pressed to the wall separating the dining room from the living room. 

My intentions hadn’t been confrontational or argumentative at first. Figuring that Sehun already knew about Donghae’s gifts as the person who brought them, I thought it was convenient that I wouldn’t have to explain much of the story. Besides, if my temper got the best of me, I didn’t mind having Sehun as a witness; I didn’t care what he thought of me. 

Maybe I believed that a tantrum wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe, at least in that moment, I didn’t care if I hurt him because— I acknowledged, glare hardening as he looked at me— Sehun helped hurt Mom. 

Quietly, hoping not to attract attention, I said, “I need to talk to you.” 

Sehun blinked at me. If he saw that I was upset and had any desire to comfort me, he didn’t act like it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he mumbled, “What’s wrong with you? Can’t find your boyfriend?”

My face burned. “I don’t have time for your games.” Aware that people— namely, Baekhyun, from his place on the couch— were watching us, purely wanting to take the conversation somewhere a little more private, I grabbed around Sehun’s black tie and pulled him out the front door. 

The comfort provided by his lack of protest was short lived. The moment I closed the door, shutting us out in the cold nighttime snowfall on the front porch, Sehun tsked, “Your boyfriend really isn’t gonna like that, Lei. You’re a little new to love, so I’ll give you a tip: Don’t grab other guys by the tie.” 

I rolled my eyes as Sehun straightened his tie, and, although it was none of his business, I argued, “Taemin is not—”

“Ah,” Sehun wagged a mocking ginger, “I never said a name. You did. So there _**is**_ something going on there. God—” he shouted at the sky so loudly that anyone in the house could have heard— “I thought you would only look at _**me**_ like that!”

I gasped at Sehun’s allegation that I had ever felt anything toward him that compared to my love for Taemin.

Maybe— maybe if you promise never to tell anyone, I’ll admit that once upon a time, Sehun made my heart flutter in a way that didn’t make me want to slap him across the face. Maybe I’ll admit in a quiet whisper that over years, he had broken my heart little by little until the Christmas party two years ago when he shattered every illusion I ever harbored about him and dating and boys in general under the stupid mistletoe in a corner of my mother’s house. 

Sometimes, I almost convinced myself that Sehun never meant to hurt me. That almost helped me look at him. Often, I tried to believe that the Sehun under the mistletoe wasn’t the Sehun before me, but Sehun (present-tense) was raising his eyebrows, provoking me further on a night when I needed nothing other than a friend. Sehun then was the same person who hurt me on Christmas with little effort. 

At once crumbling under the weight of the mistletoe crown I had forgotten was on my head, I snatched it off, eyes watering at the sharp pain of it yanking at my hair. Tossing the crown onto the rocking chair in the corner of the porch, I wondered what good I imagined would come from leaving sweet, loving Taemin in my bedroom. 

I wondered what good I imagined would come from talking to Sehun, who remarked, “I guess you’ve really grown up then, huh?” 

His smirk annoyed me. “I wish you would,” I muttered, unable to look at him for more than a second at a time. “Really, I wish you hadn’t even come.” 

It wasn’t fair. I dragged him outside. What did I expect him to say or do to make things better? What right did I have to lose my temper when I should have known he would do little other than tease me? Stupid. I never should have left my room. 

Reaching out for my arm, Sehun argued, “You don’t mean that. You love seeing—”

His touch ignited my anger, temporarily numbing my sympathy for him. Wrenching my arm out of his grasp, I tried to burn Sehun with my gaze. “No, I don’t.” He shrank back, furrowed his brow, and I swallowed my remorse to bark, “It’s one thing to tease me. I don’t like it, but I don’t really expect much else from you. One day, I won’t give a shit what you say. And until then— well— I guess I’ve never been able to stay mad even though you make a fool of me again and again. But I will never forgive you for what you’ve done today.”

When I turned away and reached for the frozen doorknob, wincing as its chill bit through my fingertips, Sehun grabbed me again. He spun me around and lowered his face so it was level with mine, so I couldn’t look away as he asked, “What is wrong with you?”

For a second, or maybe less, I thought he was being serious until he continued, “Are you mad because your boyfriend kissed me? I didn’t ask him to or anything, so—”

“Is everything a joke to you?” There were no traces of humor in Sehun’s features, but I asked anyway. “Why the hell would I care if Taemin kisses you?”

Sighing as I swatted his hands away, Sehun shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pants’ pockets. “I don’t know. You shouldn’t be upset. You were a much better—”

“You’re a real jerk, you know that?” Too furious to stomach looking at him, yet too furious to look away, I stared right into Sehun’s eyes, repulsed by his poorly stifled chuckle as I challenged, “It’s not enough that you ruined Mom’s night, so now you’re bringing up how you ruined my Christmas a couple years ago?”

Sehun stuttered, “I— I ruined—” He coughed. “What’s wrong with your mom?” Genuine concern flickered through Sehun’s eyes before he claimed, “I didn’t do anything to—”

“Oh, no, you just delivered the cruelest gift on Donghae’s behalf, right? Because you can’t resist the opportunity to make me miserable—”

“You’re right!” Sehun’s face flushed red. “My entire world revolves around you! I only came here tonight because I wanted to see you! God only knows why when you always treat me like dirt under your shoes.”

Of course I didn’t quite believe him, but Sehun never looked like a liar. He never sounded like a liar. There was some part of me that had existed for years that always wanted to believe him. 

Dropping his hold on me, Sehun huffed, “Maybe if I’d known that Taemin would be hanging all over you like a lovesick puppy or some shit—”

I spoke through my teeth. “Stop talking about Taemin.” 

Sehun cut his eyes from me and ran a rough hand through his hair. “Whatever. Keep denying that there’s something going on with him—”

“What do you want from me, Sehun?”

Did he want me to tell him about the ribbon and the night and the garden and all the nights on tour? Too bad. I would never trust him with anything so fragile and precious and dear to my heart. It was mine, and he couldn’t have it. I would never let him have it. 

Sehun returned the question to me. “What do you want from me, Lei? Do you want me to apologize for kissing you two years ago? Because I won’t. Should I say that I’m sorry for giving your mom gifts from my friend when I didn’t even know what they were?”

I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t very interested in hearing what he had to say, but Sehun spoke instead. “Without even telling you, I’ve done so much for you. I’ve carried and guarded so many secrets for you, and you just— I don’t expect you to thank me, but would it kill you to just—”

When Sehun stopped abruptly, I followed his gaze to find that Baekhyun had drawn the blinds to watch us through the window from his place on the couch. Our eyes met. Baekhyun looked away first. 

“Whatever,” Sehun grumbled. 

Before I could think of anything to say, before I could embrace or deny the burning urge to apologize, Heechul brushed by me to walk inside, I assumed, to find and comfort Mom. I would have followed Heechul inside to escape the fight that had gone too far even if Sehun hadn’t started the walk to his car first. 

Sehun must have taken the mistletoe crown with him; it wasn’t on the rocking chair when I searched for it in the dark. 

Lucas wrapped me in a bone crushing hug as soon as I walked in from the late night chill. He only released me when I promised, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just really want to talk to Taemin.” Although Lucas could have teased me, he only nodded and nudged me toward the stairs. 

Baekhyun, the only person I thought knew about my argument with Sehun, didn’t say anything. He didn’t even glance up at me from the popcorn garland (that I made with Lucas that morning) that he was eating one piece at a time. If I imagined that Baekhyun could be sad, that’s what I imagined he would look like: eyes downcast, lips puckered into a boyish little pout, cheeks flushed. Had I been well enough to talk, I would have asked what was wrong. 

At the base of the stairs, where Kai and Wookie excitedly discussed their favorite holiday songs, I discarded my red heels. Before either of them— or any of the others at the still thriving party— could notice me, I dashed up to my room, shoes in hand. 

I don’t know how I knew that I would find Taemin there, sweeping the glass shards around the vanity into a small trash bin. Still standing by the door after I closed it with a soft click, after dropping my shoes onto the floor, I eagerly broke the silence. “I’m sorry I left you here to clean my mess.”

Glancing at the cleaned and reorganized vanity, I saw that he left the folded Donghae poster under the photograph on the same corner where the ribbon had once been. I could only hope that their color wouldn’t fade, that they wouldn’t collect dust for long. 

Taemin lightly kicked the bin under the vanity and walked to me. In both warm hands, he cupped my cheeks, and it wasn’t until I looked into his eyes— kind and comforting and sparkling although the only light in my room was the moon’s rays flooding in through the window behind him— that I realized I was crying. 

Wiping the tears, Taemin promised, “I’ll always be here to help you clean your messes. That’s nothing to apologize for. It’s okay if you run off and take whatever space you need because I’ll always be here when you come back.” 

I wrapped my arms around Taemin’s waist and pulled him against me. I hesitated to press my face against his chest because I didn’t want to stain his clothes with my makeup. There was little room to resist, however, when he drew me closer to his heartbeat, gently combing a hand through my hair. 

As if it would make everything better, I said, “I love you.” Taemin probably would have said that he loved me had I not continued, “I really don’t want to go back down to the party.” I didn’t care if I was being cowardly. 

“Okay,” Taemin agreed, “then we won’t.” 

I hadn’t expected him to stay with me when he could have been downstairs laughing with Kai, but I wouldn’t say anything to convince him to go. Maybe I didn’t need Taemin, but I wanted him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Taemin asked once we were seated side by side on my bed (which was much bigger than any of our tiny hotel beds), atop a light blue quilt I had owned my entire life. 

Glancing away from _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ , playing on the television mounted on the wall, I met Taemin’s careful gaze and shook my head. “Not really. The last time I tried to talk about this, Sehun and I yelled at each other and traumatized Baekhyun.”

“I’m not going to yell at you,” Taemin said quietly, as if to demonstrate his benevolence. Looking around the room, he joked, “And there’s no Baekhyun in sight!”

Smiling vaguely— and then biting on my lips because smiling didn’t seem right— I admitted, “Aside from all of the Donghae drama, I feel bad for taking my frustration out on Sehun, even though he was being annoying.”

“I don’t think Sehun would have a hard time forgiving you if you apologize.” Taemin disconnected my phone from its charger and handed it to me. When I only accepted it quietly, Taemin added, “I’m not saying that I think you have to apologize. It’s just— if you’re sorry—”

Taemin didn’t even have to know the full context of the argument; he encouraged me to apologize to Sehun only because he thought it would lessen my burden. He thought it would make me feel better. 

“Later,” I decided and laid my phone face down on the nightstand. I wasn’t quite ready to face my actions just yet. And, as I told Taemin, “I just want to be with you right now.” 

With a nod, Taemin swallowed his concern. Smiling like a child, he pointed at the small white-wrapped gift on the nightstand and asked, “What’s that?”

Once I grabbed the gift, I held it out to Taemin, giggling at his wide-eyed expression. “If you don’t like it—” Taemin shook his head, hair flopping as he accepted the present— “then I’ll be more than happy to keep it!”

The enthusiastic shaking of Taemin’s head stopped only as he admired the opened gift. “Does this—” He tucked my hair behind my ear and traced his thumb over my crescent moon earring as he had earlier in the dining room. Taemin beamed down at the giftbox and boasted, “This matches yours!”

I blushed as he retracted his hand to fit his new earring into one of his piercings. “Yeah. They’re two halves of a pair. I didn’t know if you’d like it, but—”

Taemin lightly kissed my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth, and swore, “I love it,” so I didn’t bother to explain the thoughts that led me to choose the moon earrings as his gift. Because f the way Taemin smiled at me, it seemed that he already understood. 

He stood and said, “I left your gift downstairs. I’ll be right back!”

Before he even left the room, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without Taemin’s embrace. Considering his frequent requests to come over throughout the week, I expected that Taemin would agree to stay until sunrise if I asked. Thinking only of making Taemin comfortable, I tiptoed down the hall to Lucas’s room in search of pajamas. 

As I passed Mom’s room and found it empty, I sighed in relief, releasing the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Heechul must have convinced her to return to the party; he was good at that kind of thing. Although I didn’t quite want to join them, I was glad to imagine Mom having fun downstairs. 

When I first ran up the stairs back into Taemin’s arms, a critical part of my mind cursed me for running from the party— for running from Sehun as I always had. However, I decided as I imagined the smile that might settle on Taemin’s face when I asked him to stay, making new memories didn’t count as running. Spending time with Taemin counted as embracing the present, letting go of the past, and looking excitedly toward the future. 

As I emerged from Lucas’s closet, clutching a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, I was caught. Face dangerously close to mine, Lucas asked, “What are you doing?”

The party must have been raging for nobody to react to my ear-splitting scream or Lucas’s subsequent side-splitting laughter. 

I wheezed, pressing a palm flat over my chest, “You just gave me a heart attack, Lucas! You should really learn to announce yourself.”

“I didn’t realize I had to announce myself in my own room,” Lucas rolled his eyes. His room— as if he hadn’t occupied a guest room. “I came to check on you. When you weren’t in your room, I didn’t expect to find you stealing from my closet!”

“It’s not stealing.” I tried to walk around Lucas, too embarrassed to explain that I was taking his clothes to encourage Taemin to spend the night. “It’s borrowing.” 

Lucas laughed. “Right.” He didn’t block the door; he walked into the hall first, and that allowed him to catch a glimpse of Taemin slipping into my room, gift box in hand. “Oh, I see!” Lucas winked and snorted at my blush. “Tell Taemin he can keep those—” he nodded toward the bundle of clothes in my hands— “if he wants to. He’s pretty sentimental, huh? He’ll want some kind of souvenir of the first time you asked him to spend the night.” 

My face burned as I kicked Lucas toward the stairs, giggling as he reacted with a dramatic cry as he ran a hand over the injury. 

When I returned to my room, I found Taemin sitting on my bed, a small white-wrapped gift sitting in his lap. I sat by his side and gave him the bundle of Lucas’s clothes in exchange for his box. 

“What’s this?” Taemin lowered his head before mine to steal my attention away from his gift. 

“Pajamas,” I forced myself to answer casually, delicately picking at tape. “You know, in case you want to spend the night. Here. With me.” Funny. Until I started talking, I didn’t think that I was nervous. Now, I couldn’t seem to stand the silence. How embarrassing. 

Taemin smiled at my invitation. His smile grew as he noticed my wide-eyed reaction to his gift: a silver crescent moon hanging on a delicate silver chain. 

It’s important to note that Taemin and I hadn’t coordinated our gifts. The only explanation for our matching, I guessed, was that we each associated the other with the moon that watched over us on that first night in the garden. The only explanation was that Taemin and I remembered that night with the same heart fluttering joy. We were on the same page at the same time, and that was rare and beautiful. 

“Here.” Taemin lifted the necklace out of its box with nimble fingers and motioned for me to turn my back to him. After struggling with the clasp for so long that I started giggling (which was mostly a reaction to Taemin’s high pitched whining), he finally secured the necklace around my neck. He placed a light kiss to the nape of my neck before turning me to face him. 

“Thank you,” I said while tracing my fingers along the cold pendant. 

“You’re welcome,” Taemin yawned and wrapped an arm around me. It was a cliche move, I guess, but it was cute enough to make me smile. “I’m kinda tired. Are you sure you don’t wanna go back to the party?”

Accepting my nod, Taemin grabbed Lucas’s clothes and started toward the door, I assumed, to change in the bathroom across the hall. 

“Wait!” I blurted as if what I wanted to say couldn’t wait another minute. Maybe it couldn’t. Maybe I had waited long enough. For a few seconds, I sat on the edge of my bed, gathering Taemin’s giftbox and the wrinkled wrapping paper. I was thankful that he had only stopped in his tracks; he hadn’t turned to face me. I don’t know that I could have looked him in the eyes as I confessed, “I want us to be together.”

“Huh?” Taemin gasped when I threw my arms around his waist, pulled his body against mine, and rose onto the tips of my toes to kiss the nape of his neck— the same place where he had kissed me just moments earlier. 

Taemin turned in my embrace. “I’ll be right back,” he assured, his lips meeting the crown of my head. “I just have to go change, and—”

Taemin cocked his head when I shook mine. “No, I mean—” I was stuttering, too excited to speak properly. I wasn’t quite nervous— or maybe I was; maybe it was anxiety that tied my stomach in knots. “I have to tell you that I love the necklace, and I love you, and I want to be your girlfriend, please.”

There was nothing to be afraid of. Taemin didn’t even search my face for uncertainty— perhaps knowing that he would find none— before giggling and running his hands down the lengths of my arms. “Is that it?” 

I nodded, and Taemin played, “It’s nice that you said ‘please.’ That’s very polite of you.” He must have been excited that I was voluntarily taking this bold step toward him. I wouldn’t have faulted him for teasing me. It didn’t hurt me when he teased me. “I want you to be my girlfriend, too, but not as much as I want to be your boyfriend.” 

He looked at me with raised eyebrows, so I agreed, “You can be my boyfriend, Taemin.” 

Maybe it was a little silly to be so ecstatic about titles when Taemin and I had been together for those few months that felt like forever, but after he left the room, I smiled so widely that my cheeks hurt as I danced into my pajamas. I was still smiling as I leaped onto the bed, eagerly awaiting the moment when Taemin would fill the space beside me— this time as my boyfriend— when my phone rang.

Should I be embarrassed that, even after the symbolic (dramatic) act of removing his poster from the wall, I accepted Donghae’s call? I’m not embarrassed. You have to understand how much he meant to me. You have to try to imagine how many smiles he planted on my face through years of kindness. 

I must have loved Donghae beyond comprehension. At the sight of him, small and smiling on my phone’s screen, every recently born resentment I held toward him was released. I don’t know if I could have clung to my anger even if I wanted to. 

Maybe it’s impossible to stay angry at somebody you love. Maybe I was looking for every excuse to forgive him for hurting Mom even if he wasn’t sorry.

I smiled a heavy sort of sincere smile as I greeted, “Hello. Merry Christmas,” with a small wave. 

“Merry Christmas.” Donghae mirrored my wave. His smile seemed heavier than mine. “Sehun said you were upset.” 

Is that why Donghae called? Not because his Christmas was incomplete without me (like mine was incomplete without him) but because Sehun tattled on me? My heart sank and only rose from the cold depths of disappointment when Taemin entered the room with his brilliant grin. 

Careful not to make any noise that would alert Donghae to Taemin’s presence— not wanting him to scold me or Mom because a boy was in my bedroom, a place much more intimate than a hotel room— I placed a finger over my lips and motioned for Taemin to sit on the floor. Because Donghae’s eyes were downcast, he didn’t notice. 

Taemin obeyed my instruction to be quiet, but he didn’t sit on the floor as I requested. Gently, he eased onto my bed, sitting down at my feet. I stifled a chuckle, reasoning that as long as he didn’t say anything, there was no harm in Taemin’s small rebellion. 

“Lei.” Donghae reclaimed my attention. “I called to check on you. Are you okay?”

Meeting his gaze, I answered, “I’m okay now. I just—” I almost choked on my honesty— “I missed you earlier, and—”

Did I dare to confront Donghae about the photograph? I had to; it wasn’t right to take out my aggression on Sehun without being willing to confront the source. 

“I saw a picture of all of us taken at one of your birthday parties years ago, back when I was a little kid, and I guess—” As if to remind me that he was there, that it was okay to be honest even when it hurt, Taemin grabbed my hand and empowered me to admit, “I’ve been sad lately because so much has changed.”

Moments passed in silence before Donghae acknowledged, nodding, “Yeah. Change is inevitable, and it can seem scary. You’re at a time in life where you’re starting to step into the world as an adult— and that’s a very good thing. I don’t know exactly how you're feeling, but I know that watching you grow is scary for me.” 

Donghae laughed, so I laughed too. Taemin squeezed my hand. 

Donghae confessed, “Lately, I’ve worried that maybe I’ve been a burden to you— like when I overreacted to your dance practice with Lucas or when I lost my temper because your mom trusted the boys in your group to share a room with you.”

I shook my head. “I won’t lie— you kind of embarrassed me. I mean, not so much with Lucas because I don’t care what he thinks, but Taemin—” Taemin’s eyes widened at his name— “I care what Taemin thinks.” 

Donghae apologized, and I said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind being embarrassed by you when you mean well. I’d rather have you here to overprotect me than have you stand someplace far away where I can’t see you just because you’re not sure what to do.”

I knew that Donghae skipped the party to avoid his tension with Mom, but I considered that maybe he was avoiding tension with me as well. I didn’t want him to avoid me. 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t done a better job of teaching you that always, no matter how far apart we may be from time to time, I love you. You’re like my daughter, Lei, and nothing can change that. If you need me or if you just want to talk, I’m always just a phone call away.”

Maybe because I wanted to— maybe because I needed to— I believed Donghae when he said that he loved me. I just wasn’t quite comforted because, as I told him, “My heart is broken for you. Donghae, I’m not trying to pry into your feelings for Mom—”

Midway through a gulp of water, Donghae choked. Water dribbled from his mouth down to the front of his black t-shirt. Did he not know how obvious his infatuation was? 

“— but how could you have returned the picture Mom gave you for your birthday? Did it hurt you at all to—”

“The picture?” Donghae dropped his phone onto the counter. I could hear him shuffling through his living room before he showed his panicked face. “I didn’t return the picture, but I can’t find it. I usually keep it on the mantle above my fireplace, but it’s not there!”

It was evident from his alarm that Donghae was telling the truth. My brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Sehun gave Mom your gift, and—”

“I gave your mom a bracelet like this one!” He held his hand up and pointed to a red thread on his wrist. I had seen one like it before— on Mom’s wrist when she was crying in her room. 

Again, I tried to explain what I knew. “Sehun said that he was here on behalf of you and Eunhyuk—”

Donghae’s eyes widened. “Lei, I have to go. I have to call Eunhyuk.”

Did that mean that Eunhyuk had stolen the photograph to give to Mom with that scribbled note? To me, that seemed over the top and inappropriate, but maybe Eunhyuk was tired of watching his friend pine. Maybe interfering (and hurting Mom in the process) was Eunhyuk’s way of rushing the fifteen years of rejection saga toward an ending with no regard for whether the ending would be happy. 

Is a sad ending better than no ending at all? I didn’t know.

“Don’t look so sad, Lei,” Donghae begged. “I’ll see you at the New Year’s party. And when I do—” He gestured to a bracelet on his wrist opposite from the one housing the red thread— “I’ll give you your gift: the bracelet that matches this.” 

I caught the briefest glimpse of the bracelet’s infinity symbol as I nodded. “Okay, Donghae. Goodnight, and please remember—” his brow furrowed in anticipation— “everything will be okay.” 

Donghae and I smiled, I think, because we both believed it. 

After saying his final Goodnight and Merry Christmas, Donghae ended the call, and Taemin wasted no time in claiming his place by my side at the head of the bed. Lacing his fingers through mine, Taemin asked, “Do you feel a little better now?”

I probably would have nodded my head even if I still felt terrible, but I felt as if the weight of the world— or at least the weight of Donghae’s fifteen years of heartbreak— had been lifted from my shoulders. It was as I had always hoped: even if Mom and Donghae weren’t bonded in a mutual love affair, Donghae still cared for me. Donghae would still have a presence in my life. 

Trusting that Donghae would somehow explain that he hadn’t returned the picture to Mom, I cast that issue from my mind. However matters between Mom and Donghae resolved, I wanted (or needed) to have as little involvement as possible to protect my relationships with each of them. 

Cupping my cheek— which I guess was Taemin’s new favorite thing to do— Taemin gushed, “I’m really proud of you. Do you know that?” It seemed like a peculiar thing for a boyfriend to tell his girlfriend, but I guessed I didn’t know much about how real couples talked to each other. Anyway, I appreciated Taemin’s pride in me. 

Just as I was about to say something too cringe-worthy to repeat, like, “Are you proud enough to kiss me?” Grandma walked into the room, black sweater sparkling. 

It was incredible, really, that after his colossal meltdown that night in the hotel when I said that anyone could catch us sleeping together, Taemin hadn’t thought to lock the door. Although Taemin hid his face behind my shoulder, and my entire body burned crimson in utter humiliation, Grandma didn’t scold us. She didn’t seem surprised, and she didn’t acknowledge Taemin’s presence in any way other than flashing a simple smile. 

“Lei, I just came to get my phone.” Grandma approached us only to grab her phone from my nightstand. “Goodnight!”

She locked the door on her way out, but our intimate atmosphere was now laced with tense embarrassment. Our innocence was somehow tainted by her unspoken expectation that something was either happening or going to happen. It was one thing for Taeyong to suspect that something was happening and giggle about it over hot wings; it was another for Grandma to suspect that we were up to no good and, worse, to encourage it. 

Face still hidden, Taemin squeaked, “So we’re not in trouble?”

I laid back on my pillow and sighed, grateful that if somebody had to walk in (other than Lucas, Kai, or Taeyong), it was Grandma. “No. Grandma’s not the scolding type.” 

She wasn’t the tattling type either, so she wouldn’t say anything to Mom. If Grandma ever told anyone that she found Taemin in my room, it would be Wookie; she would probably wait until next year, when there was less risk of us getting in trouble, to tell Wookie over a cup of tea. 

“Besides—” I glanced up at Taemin’s red face— “she likes you too much to get mad at you.” 

Taemin lit up, and his blush faded almost all at once. “She likes me?” Maybe Taemin didn’t understand that nobody could get through a conversation with him without falling. 

“Not as much as I like you, but—” 

I didn’t even get to finish teasing. My words encouraged Taemin to lay himself down and fit his warm body to mine. 

I’ll never know why we didn’t kiss that night when it would have been so easy. I guess it must have been the same unknown reason that we didn’t kiss any of those nights on tour in the privacy of our room. Despite the burning urge to lean in and feel his lips against mine for the first time, I kind of enjoyed the wait. Without realizing it, I had waited for Taemin my entire life. Now that he was there, listening to me, speaking to me, holding me, loving me, the wait for a kiss was no real burden. 

Taemin fell asleep minutes after his head hit the pillow. He must have been telling the truth when he said that he couldn’t sleep in the SuperM house. With Taemin snoring faintly into the still darkness, I drew a deep breath. 

In this perfect moment, there was only one thing nagging in my mind, tying my stomach in knots (as usual): the thought of Sehun. 

The urge to apologize to him was like an itch I couldn’t quite reach. And even if I could reach it, what reason did I have to believe that scratching it would make it go away? Isn’t that the worst thing to do when you’re trying to heal— disrupt the injury? 

Maybe, a part of me argued, the apology was more like applying medicine. Maybe apologizing would make me feel better, even if it didn’t magically make us friends. 

They were rather selfish, my reasons for reaching for my phone to text Sehun. I didn’t care much about making him feel better or receiving his forgiveness; I just knew that I wouldn’t get any sleep unless I tried to satisfy my conscience, unless I tried to untangle the knots in my stomach. 


	12. Untouched by Time

**Lei's POV**

I woke from a restless sleep the next morning when Heechul’s screams shook the entire house. “Aish! This is why I never do anything nice! I wake up at the crack of dawn to make that woman breakfast in bed, and I end up with first degree burns from this stupid death oven!”

His outburst might have been funny were it not for a) Heechul’s genuine whimpers of pain as he climbed the stairs (I imagined) to carry a breakfast tray into Mom’s room and b) my fear that Taemin would be roughly shaken from his sleep by chaos so early in the morning. 

That was nothing to be worried about, I realized, when I rolled onto my side and saw that he was still sound asleep, pretty pink lips parted and dripping drool onto the white pillowcase. Taemin looked so beautiful, so tranquil, so happy that I willed myself to ignore the sun glaring at me. I willed myself to ignore its warnings that it was time for him to leave. 

I didn’t want him to leave even if I held the hope that he would return to my side with the rising of the moon. There was no choice but to wake him, though, when I made out the faint sounds of Heechul considering, “Maybe I should make something for Lei. I never saw her again last night after her fight with that dude with the angry eyebrows.” 

I pushed the thought of Sehun— and the nauseating surge of emotions that rose in my chest with his image filling my mind— aside. Later, I decided, I would think about him. 

It didn’t matter that Mom discouraged Heechul from barging into my room with pancakes or something. “You don’t have time for that, Heechul. We have to drive Mom to the airport soon.” With the house awakening, the likelihood of being caught with Taemin in my room increased with each passing second. 

Laying atop Taemin, hoping to savor for as long as possible the feeling of his skin against mine, his heartbeat racing to meet mine, I carded my hands through his hair. I tried to sate my disappointment in the realization that my earliest words in our first full day of being an official couple would be along the lines of, “You have to go.” I laid a kiss on his forehead, and then another on the tip of his nose, and then one on his cheek and then the other, and then his chin, and—

“Lei.” Taemin smiled in the early morning sunlight as he tightened his arms around my waist. “Please tell me that the sun isn’t up yet.” He kept his eyes closed even when I responded only by pressing another kiss to his jaw before burying my face in the warm crook of his neck. 

He whined, “Ah, the sun woke up before me again.” He was kind enough to realize without my prompting, “That means it’s time for me to go.” 

Moments passed quietly, with me breathing softly against Taemin’s neck while he traced formless shapes over my shirt. He whispered, “I don’t want to go.” 

Although this was precisely the kind of thing I never should have said to Taemin, I confessed, “I don’t want you to go either.” 

When I lifted my head and looked down at his pouting face, Taemin consoled, “You’ll see me at the New Years’ party in a few days.”

Maybe this makes me a little childish, but that gave me little comfort. I understood that Taemin and I could never go out on dates like normal people; we would never be the kind of people who held hands in darkened movie theaters or had anniversary dinners in the season’s most popular restaurant or even walked through a park together in broad daylight. I hated that the only places where I could look forward to seeing this person who held my heart were work studios, work banquet halls, or work hotel rooms. It was unfair that we could only be so close in the dark. 

I always thought it was unfair, but I was never as bothered as I was that first morning of being Taemin’s girlfriend. 

Climbing off of Taemin and peeling back the blanket to give him clear access to the window— he couldn’t very well walk out the front door with Heechul roaming the halls— I mumbled, “I can’t wait that long to see you again.” 

I missed Taemin already, and he hadn’t even left yet. Was it too early to cling to him like this? Maybe it was, but I couldn’t help it. 

Taemin didn’t seem to mind. Wearing a goofy smile, he leaned close to me, weight balanced on his knees. “Do you want me to come back again tonight?”

What was wrong with me? Obviously, the answer was a deafening, resounding “yes,” but I couldn’t nod my head or mutter the one-syllable word. I could only pick at a loose thread on my quilt as I shrugged and avoided Taemin’s gaze while chewing on my lips. 

“I want to come back tonight,” Taemin admitted shamelessly, placing a warm hand on my knee over my pajama pants. “Can I? Please? Pretty please?”

I felt a little less embarrassed once Taemin reminded me that he wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him. He looked at me with wide, pleading eyes, and I shrugged again— playfully this time. “I’ll think about it.” 

For a moment, Taemin forgot that we were being sneaky. He squealed, and I hushed him. “What’s so exciting anyway, silly?”

After pressing a kiss to my hairline, Taemin tiptoed over to the window, wearing Lucas’s sweatpants and t-shirt. “It’s just—” he smiled so widely that I had to smile too— “the last time you said ‘I’ll think about it,’ it meant ‘yes,’ and I got to hold you all night again.” 

Before I could argue that I wasn’t making any promises that he could sneak in again that night (although, internally, I was) or at least remind him to take his clothes, Taemin shimmied out of the window. I watched him scale the building and run barefoot through the garden to the SuperM house. 

Lucas was still asleep when I tiptoed into his room after folding Taemin’s party clothes and stuffing them into the space under my bed. The overhead light was turned off and the blinds and thick navy blue curtains were drawn closed over the window. In Lucas’s room, I could almost believe that the sun hadn’t risen. I could almost believe that when I walked over to peel back the curtains, I would be greeted by the moon. 

The only thing Lucas hated more than being woken up before noon on rest days was being left out of gossip. Bearing that in mind, I was able to justify flicking the light on and humming loudly as I flung the curtains open and raised the blinds. 

Lucas ceased snoring to grumble, “What the hell, Lei?” His face contorted in animated annoyance before he rolled onto his stomach to press his face into a fluffy pillow. “It’s too early to be conscious.” 

I sat on the edge of his bed atop a thin blue blanket decorated with tiny white anchors. The blanket was expensive, the same quality of the sheets in Mom’s bedroom. The blue blanket was meant to be mine— Mom gave it to me last year as a Christmas present— but Lucas claimed it because I was never looking to replace my familiar blue quilt. 

“Come on,” I urged, gripping one of Lucas’s legs through the blanket. “I have to tell you something.” 

Lucas resumed snoring. 

“Don’t you want to hear about how Taemin became my boyfriend last night?”

Lucas grunted, but he didn’t roll onto his back to greet me with any enthusiasm. I should have remembered that Lucas already thought that Taemin and I were dating. Then, it would have been obvious that talking about Taemin wouldn’t stir his interest. 

While I had waited all night and all morning to tell Lucas about Sehun— our fight, our apology, our confession— I had been hoping to tiptoe toward the topic. I wasn’t ready to address it so soon.

Maybe I wanted more time to work through the shock. Maybe I wanted more time to strengthen myself against the sickening clenching that seized my heart when I remembered that finally— finally Sehun loved me the way I loved him, but the timing was all wrong. 

Because I didn’t want to say anything that would belittle my love for Taemin, I bit my tongue. Even to Lucas— even to myself— I didn’t want to admit that a part of me still loved Sehun as it always had. A part of me was sick because I knew that if Taemin never took my ribbon or found me in the garden, my childhood perception of a happy ending (being the one who held Sehun’s heart) would have been realized. 

Had I known that Sehun would fall in love with me, that it was just time separating me from the dream, would I have waited? Would I have waited for him? I certainly could have. For years and years, I saw nobody but him. I could have waited. 

Something like regret churned my stomach. Sharp pain coursed through the veins around my temples. But I couldn’t quite regret the circumstances that kept me and Sehun apart. Maybe— I knew I regretted something, but not falling in love with Taemin. This was still the best version of the universe. I had to believe that. 

I don’t remember how I ended up at Lucas’s side, back pressed against his headboard. I don’t remember how I told him about the previous night’s lifetime of emotions— about the old photograph, watching Mom cry, confronting Sehun, becoming Taemin’s girlfriend, finding out that Sehun loved me. 

I just remember that Lucas’s eyes were wide and full of tears when he said, “Everything sucks.” Maybe it sounds a little anti-climactic, but that was exactly how I felt in that moment. I was grateful that Lucas could put my feelings in such simple terms. “Except that you and Taemin are official. That’s cute. That’s the only silver lining in all this.” 

After I nodded in agreement, tracing one of the anchors on the blanket, Lucas asked, “Did you tell Taemin about Sehun’s confession?”

“No.” I shook my head. 

Even if I hadn’t swelled with affection at the morning’s first sight of Taemin— even if I hadn’t been too consumed by the instinct to kiss him and hold him and love him to even think clearly about Sehun— I wouldn’t have mentioned Sehun’s confession. That wasn’t the right thing to do. 

Aside from the obvious discomfort of telling Taemin about something that, frankly, was none of his business, I thought discussing Sehun could only strain our relationship. I didn’t want to tell Taemin about all of my memories with Sehun that made his confession feel as heavy as the weight of the entire world. I didn’t want to tell Taemin about the years that I spent following Sehun, never delusional enough to believe that he would ever look at me. I didn’t want to tell Taemin (and thereby have to relive the moment) that years of admiration fell apart. 

Taemin probably didn’t want to hear how much I loved someone else, anyway. 

Above all, Sehun admitted his feelings to me in confidence. Even if I couldn’t reciprocate them anymore, I wanted to protect them. If holding onto this secret put a distance between me and Taemin— if holding onto this secret meant that Sehun would always hold a piece of my heart (no matter how small) that I couldn’t entrust to Taemin— that was okay. That was okay with me even it wasn’t okay. Even if it wasn’t right. 

Of course, I justified relating Sehun’s feelings to Lucas. I had to tell him. I couldn’t carry the weight of Sehun’s love alone. I couldn’t carry the weight of his broken heart alone. It was too heavy. What was heavy to me was never a burden to Lucas. 

Lucas huffed. “Well, let’s acknowledge the elephant in the room.” He looked into my eyes. “Do you love Sehun?”

I was grateful that he hadn’t phrased his question as, _“Do you still love Sehun?”_ Then, I might have felt trapped by the past. Then, I wouldn’t have been able to shake my head. “No.”

Squirming as if I told a lie— and I think I knew that I did— I averted my gaze and hoped that Lucas wouldn’t ask again. 

Gently, Lucas disagreed. “I think you do, Lei. If you didn’t love Sehun, I don’t think you would burst into my room first thing in the morning to talk about him.” 

I didn’t respond. No matter how I tried to hide, no matter how I tried to lie, Lucas always saw me. Sometimes, like that morning, being seen so clearly made me want to disappear. Couldn’t he believe my lies just once? Would it have been easier if Lucas wouldn’t challenge me to accept myself?

“The issue,” Lucas said, “is that the love Sehun wants— he had it once. It’s sad that he wants it now that you’ve given it to Taemin.”

Guilt racked through me— disordered my thoughts— and Lucas threw an arm around my shoulder as if to hold me together. “It sucks that you can feel this bad when you haven’t done anything wrong. Believe me, everything will be okay. Just like you accepted it when Sehun didn’t return your feelings, he’ll learn to be happy with the way you love him now. You know, he’ll be okay because the way you love Sehun— it really isn’t **_less_** than what you feel for Taemin. It’s just different.” 

Maybe I would believe anything Lucas said with a sincere smile, or maybe Lucas was right. 

People like to believe in one great love, and I was no different. I wanted to believe that Taemin was mine. I wanted to believe that we would find each other in every life, that every decision, every joy and every heartbreak forged me into the person Taemin would love. Viewing the world in terms of fate and destiny made dull days seem meaningful. I was enchanted by the idea that everything works out as it should even in matters of love. 

When I looked at Lucas, though, smiling at me as warmly as he had on our first day of friendship years ago— when I reflected on the years of memories with Sehun (disregarding the pain of that Christmas kiss) — I couldn’t deny that I had known love before Taemin. He probably had known love before me too. 

Those realizations didn’t wind me, I guess, because Lucas reminded me that the heart is made to love many. I read once that there are all kinds of loves in this world, but never the same love twice. Maybe the trick is learning to recognize love. Or maybe the challenge is learning to appreciate love as it is without the burden of expectations. 

All I knew for certain was that Lucas was right: I loved Sehun. I probably always would. I would have to accept that some loves are forever, but that doesn’t guarantee the happy ending I used to dream about. Maybe this was still the best version of the universe. By believing that, I could give my all and truly live in this time of loving Taemin. 

And if there was another universe out there— one where Sehun and I loved each other in the same way at the same time— I hoped that I was happy there. I hoped it was every bit as wonderful as I once dreamed. There, I hoped, Sehun was happy too. 

Lucas’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Hey.” He tightened his grip around my shoulders. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Although I didn’t quite believe in alternate universes (no matter how often I daydreamed about them), I had comforted myself with my thoughts. My smile was genuine when I answered, “Nothing much. I’m just thinking that I’m really glad we met, ya know?”

Lucas’s eyebrows darted upward. He smirked, “Is this your way of saying that you love me, Lei?”

Maybe I didn’t tell him enough. I sat there wondering if I had ever told Lucas that I loved him, but before I could confidently assure him that I did— that in every lifetime, I couldn’t exist without having him as my best friend— three knocks sounded at the door. 

Without removing his arm from its place around my shoulder, without considering our compromising position, Lucas warmly said, “Come in!”

Mom pushed the door open. Standing behind Mom, Heechul demanded, wide-eyed, “What the hell is going on here?” Leave it to pervert Heechul to misunderstand friendship as if he didn’t frequently cross the same boundaries with Mom that Lucas crossed with me. 

My face burned less at having been caught sitting on Lucas’s bed and more at the memory of Grandma catching Taemin in my room the night before. I squirmed out of Lucas’s embrace. 

“We’re just talking,” Lucas and I responded simultaneously. I chewed on the inside of my cheek; even when we told the truth, we sounded like a couple of liars. 

Unconvinced, Heechul rounded on Mom, stunned by her lack of outrage. “You knew about this, didn’t you? This is why you told me not to bring Lei breakfast!”

“Get out of my face, Heechul!” Mom swatted him away and filled the doorway. Gaze shifting between me and Lucas, Mom said, “I just wanted to tell you that Heechul and I are taking Grandma to the airport, so we'll be out for a while.”

“And that means—” Heechul pointed a harsh finger at Lucas— “that you have to leave!”

Lucas’s jaw dropped, and he pressed a palm flat over his chest which (I now realized) was bare. I rolled my eyes, wondering why we could never do anything without causing a scandal, even at home. 

“Me?” Lucas pouted. “I have to leave?” 

Although Heechul sternly nodded, eyebrows pinching together just above his eyes, Mom shook her head. “No, Lucas, I’ve told you a thousand times— this is your home, especially around the holidays. Just—” her mouth twitched in amusement or subdued disapproval— “make sure you use protection.”

Heechul, Lucas, and I gasped. 

Brushing past Heechul into the hallway, Mom instructed, “Check the top drawer in the nightstand.”

Lucas obeyed and stared down into the drawer, too shocked by its contents to close it. Flustered, I ran a hand through my hair as Heechul argued with Mom. “That is so inappropriate!” He poked his head back into the room to lecture, “You better not do anything naughty under my roof!”

I couldn’t quite appreciate the humor of Heechul being so protective or feel amused that Mom screamed back, “First of all, this is my house! Second of all, let those kids live! They deserve to be happy and do what kids their age do!”

Was she speaking as a mother or as a manager? Even though Lucas and I were 21— technically adults— it didn’t seem like she was saying the right things. 

“Come on, Heechul! Mom is already in the car! If you don’t get down here in five seconds, I’m leaving without you!”

Heechul eyed me and Lucas one more time before walking through the open door and running downstairs. 

Closing the nightstand’s drawer at last, Lucas mumbled, “That was weird,” which deepened my discomfort because Lucas never thought anything was weird. 

I agreed. “Yeah. That was pretty disgusting.” 

“Yeah.” Lucas returned to his place next to me. He sat stiffly, holding his hands in his lap. Moments passed in silence— a rarity with Lucas— before he wondered aloud, “Do you really think it would be disgusting if you and I— you know?”

I cut my eyes at him, assuming that I could deflate his joke with a glare. There were no traces of humor in Lucas’s expression, but I shook my head anyway. “I’m not having sex with you just because Mom thinks—”

Red-faced, Lucas interrupted. “Well, **_obviously_** we’re not gonna do it! You have Taemin now.” Lucas spoke as if Taemin were all that kept us from crossing that rather serious boundary. Suddenly dropping his gaze down to the hands joined in his lap, Lucas shrugged. “I’m not saying that I ** _want_** to do it. I just don’t know that it would be that gross with you. I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

After being chased by dating rumors for so many years, how could Lucas have never considered what life would be like if the fans were right? I wanted to argue— to believe that he had considered me romantically and then dismissed those feelings just as I had considered him romantically for the briefest subconscious second before easily shaking the thoughts from my mind. 

When I looked at Lucas, however, his brow was furrowed in concentration. He was re-imagining me, reconsidering me, and I didn’t like it. 

“Hey! Cut that out!” I swiped at his bare arm. “It’s not gonna happen, Lucas, so don’t make things weird!”

‘Please,’ I almost said, but then **_I_** would have been making things weird. Looking back, I see that maybe we didn’t carefully toe the line between friendship and something almost romantic. Maybe the line was blurred. Ambiguous. I never would have admitted it, though, so there’s little point in trying to see us clearly now. 

Lucas whined, “Ow!” and rubbed at his arm. “That really hurt, Lei! You don’t slap Taemin around like this, do you?” 

I shook my head and crossed my arms, and Lucas laughed, and it felt like everything was back to normal. It felt like the uncomfortable season was passing. Although nothing was really resolved, I felt like I could finally be happy. 

Let it be known that I was a fangirl first and an idol second. Somehow— by fate or some miracle— I had discovered an especially well written fanmade series about SuperM. I was lured in because Taemin and I were tagged as the main couple and, as you well know, I was starved for Taemin content. Plus, I think, I was excited that somebody else saw our potential as a couple even if I couldn’t publicly confirm it. 

By the time I was about ¾ of the way through the story, however, it became apparent that Baekhyun (of all people) had been my true soulmate all along. Although flustered and vaguely disappointed that my fictional happy ending wouldn’t be with Taemin, I couldn’t abandon the story. I was too invested. And, over the course of several chapters, I had fallen for the fictionalized Baekhyun. 

On the day of S.M.’s New Years’ Party, I arrived at the banquet hall hours early with Mom. Sitting alone at a table in the corner, reading the story and answering the occasional disruptive text from Taemin or Lucas, I wondered how the author planned to tie up so many loose ends with just one remaining chapter. 

Maybe, I hoped to settle the knots tightening in my stomach, she would write a sequel!

As I allowed myself to smile at the thought, a loud CRASH sounded in the kitchen. Before I could rise to straighten my blue dress and set toward the sound to investigate— before I could even wonder what happened— the staff gathered in the kitchen chorused, “BAEKHYUN!”

My face burned at his name. For a second, the lines between fiction and reality were blurred as my heart raced. Now that I knew Baekhyun was there, I couldn’t resume reading. Not wanting the fear that he might catch me reading a love story about us to ruin the long-awaited ending, I closed out of the app on my phone and stuffed it into my purse. 

Baekhyun walked out of the kitchen, face crimson, and beelined toward me. Wearing a midnight blue suit, black hair combed neatly to the side, masquerade mask (as that was the theme of the party) concealing half of his face, he was almost unrecognizable. Adult. Handsome. Yet, I preferred his boyish smile to his tense expression. 

Mentally scolding myself for staring at Baekhyun as if I had never seen him before— as if he had walked from the pages of that imaginary story where we were in love— I asked, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. He just held his hand out to me and pleaded, “Come with me, please.” 

I stood, matching his height in my heels, but I didn’t take his hand. Maybe I was overthinking a meaningless gesture, but I felt that we weren’t meant to hold hands, so I wrapped my fingers around the strap of my purse. “Okay.” I nodded and bit my tongue because I didn’t want to bother him with my questions about where we were going. 

Baekhyun blinked at the hand I rejected and stuffed it into his pants’ pocket. “Here.” He pressed Mom’s credit card into my hand before reaching back into his pocket for a set of keys. 

The keys, I realized once Baekhyun led me outside, belonged to one of the company vans. Like he had on our late-night run to Buffalo Wild Wings in Atlanta, he held the door open for me. “We have to go buy some champagne glasses to replace the ones I just shattered in the kitchen.”

As Baekhyun climbed into his seat, I fastened my seatbelt. “Oh. Is that what caused the crash in the kitchen?”

The answer was obvious enough when Baekhyun’s face flushed maroon. I regretted saying anything at all when his hands gripping the wheel turned an unnatural white. “God, I’m such a clumsy moron!”

My eyes widened, unaccustomed to seeing an unhappy Baekhyun. Granted, sometimes the joy he derived from chaos annoyed me or made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t know how to feel when Baekhyun wasn’t smiling. As I sat there, shrinking in the passenger seat, it occurred to me that I had no idea how to make him smile again. 

In a small voice, I started, “You’re not—” 

But I was cut off by the sudden screeching of tires and Baekhyun shrieking, “ ** _Shit_**!”

Too stunned to ask, I didn’t quite understand what happened until TVXQ’s Max Changmin, coincidentally one of the most breathtakingly handsome men in the world, poked his head into Baekhyun’s open window. “In a hurry there, buddy?”

Too embarrassed to meet Changmin’s eyes, which were not yet concealed by a mask, Baekhyun whispered apologies about a thousand times in a span of thirty seconds. 

I guess it’s hard to stay mad at somebody who is so contrite, even if they did just almost run you over with a company vehicle. Patting his fist on the door, Changmin said, “Don’t sweat it. You barely grazed me!”

At once overwhelmed by the realization that Baekhyun had backed into Changmin— CHANGMIN— I gasped. Baekhyun whirled around in his seat to look at me with wide eyes like he had forgotten I was there. “Lei, are you okay?”

“Me?” I gawked at Baekhyun’s misplaced concern and leaned forward to get a clear look at Changmin. “Are you okay?”

Smiling as if to prove his lack of injury, Changmin nodded. “I’m alright! Like I said, Baekhyun barely bumped into me—” I wanted to retort that Baekhyun shouldn’t have hit him at all, but Changmin instructed— “so don’t get too mad at him, alright?” so I gnawed on my tongue. 

After I swore to Baekhyun’s pout that I wasn’t angry— I was just a little startled— Changmin stepped away from the window. “I gotta go. I promised Ms. Kim that I would arrive early to help her set up for the party.” He wagged a finger at Baekhyun. “Drive carefully with my little wife, alright?”

With color rising to my face at Changmin’s well-mannered teasing as I waved to him, Baekhyun slowly drove out of the parking lot. He must have been truly mourning the destruction of the champagne glasses and/or the near destruction of poor Changmin; Baekhyun didn’t ask me about the ‘little wife’ comment until we were well down the street. Super Junior’s “Somebody New,” blaring through the van’s speakers, was nearly over. 

“It’s a joke,” I explained. 

“Well, duh.” Baekhyun stuck his tongue out at me, and I guessed that meant his weird mood had passed. I was glad. “I think I’d know if you were married to Changmin!” 

I shrugged, and Baekhyun asked, “Isn’t he, like, way older than you?”

“Just by, like, eleven years.” So I could properly hear Baekhyun,’s reaction, I turned the radio down. “Eleven years isn’t such a long time. Have you ever thought that I haven’t dated anyone all these years because I’ve been secretly married to Max Changmin, the dreamiest guy in the universe?”

Like it was even vaguely possible that I could have been telling the truth, Baekhyun glanced at me with a single raised eyebrow. Within seconds, we broke into side splitting laughter. 

Between giggles, I admitted, “When I was a little kid, like way before I ever debuted, I used to say that my dream was to marry Changmin.” Baekhyun snorted, and I defended myself by saying, “Just look at him, Baek! Marrying Changmin is still a solid goal if you ask me.” 

“Cute,” Baekhyun hummed. “I wonder if that’s why Sehun went through that phase where he rolled his eyes whenever Changmin was mentioned.” 

My face paled at Sehun’s name, but I don’t guess Baekhyun noticed. He told me, “Sehun had a pretty big head about the fact that some cute little kid— you— looked at him with hearts in her eyes. I bet he didn’t like that you looked at Changmin the same way.”

I didn’t look at Changmin the same way. I never looked at anybody the way I looked at Sehun, just like I never looked at anyone the way I looked at Taemin. Some things are special, but I couldn’t explain that to Baekhyun, so I shrugged and turned my gaze out the window. 

Would it be like this forever? I had long since been unable to remember Sehun from those days without frowning in time with the sad twinging of my heart, but life was different now that my frown wasn’t formed by anger or the sting of rejection. It was worse now. 

“Are you okay?” Baekhyun asked. 

Although I was certain that he had watched my argument with Sehun at the Christmas party, was it possible that Baekhyun hadn’t actually overheard anything? Even if he had heard everything, could our words have made any sense when he knew little about my past with Sehun? I didn’t know. 

Regardless of what Baekhyun might have assumed or imagined, it was evident from his frown that he hadn’t known that Sehun was a sensitive topic. 

“I just don’t really want to talk about Sehun.” Although Baekhyun hadn’t asked for a reason, when his frown deepened, I tried to lessen his concern by citing a trivial reason. “I’m just kinda annoyed with him, as usual.” I didn’t like saying it because it wasn’t true. I wasn’t annoyed with Sehun. I was just sorry. “He stole my mistletoe crown and—” 

“He what?”

The mistletoe crown, I assumed, had been some kind of joke to Baekhyun, but when he stopped at a red light and looked at me, brows meeting between his eyes, it was evident that I had worsened his mood. 

I stuttered, “I’m sorry,” and Baekhyun shook his head before turning his attention back to the road. 

“What do you have to be sorry for, silly?” Baekhyun said nothing else about the mistletoe crown— thank goodness— because he preferred to turn the conversation back to the broken champagne glasses. “They were so beautiful, Lei. You know how everyone gets to keep a commemorative glass after the party?”

“Yeah.” I knew very well since the leftover glasses from years past filled cabinets in my mother’s home. 

“Well, they’re always pretty, so I always look forward to seeing the New Year’s design.” Baekhyun must have been one of those people who found the small joys in life. “I’ve heard it said that you don’t have to touch to see, but when I see something so pretty—”

Baekhyun glanced over and grinned at the fact that I was carefully considering his every word. I raised my eyebrows. “When you see something so pretty?” Baekhyun was interesting because I could never predict where his thoughts would lead. I could never imagine the picture he would paint with his words. 

“Huh?” Baekhyun blinked. “Oh! When I see something pretty, I get a little careless, but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to break those glasses. I didn’t want your mom to look at me so tired and disappointed before saying, ‘go downtown and pick up the extra glasses I have on reserve at that Eternal Memories store.’”

I guess it made sense that Mom was prepared for the worst-case scenario; that was a part of her job. Trying to make him feel better, I said, “I know. It was an accident.” Then, probably thinking about the broken picture frame Taemin swept into the garbage can, I acknowledged, “Glass is more fragile than it looks.” 

Baekhyun parked the van in front of a store that was actually called Eternal Memories. I thought that was an embarrassing, cliche sort of name for a store, but I guess it suited their theme of personalized gifts. 

“We’re not talking about champagne glasses anymore, are we, Lei?” I would never get over how perceptive Baekhyun and Lucas were because they hid their wit or supernatural senses behind blinding smiles. 

“I dunno.” Glancing at the time blinking on the car radio, I suggested, “Maybe I’ll tell you some other time.” 

Baekhyun repeated, “Some other time,” and held his hand out for me to shake. 

A promise. 

Knowing that there wouldn’t be much time to talk again before, during, or after the party, imagining that I didn’t really want to tell Baekyun about the broken picture frame even if we had all the time in the world, I still took his hand without hesitation. I made a promise that couldn’t be realized. 

“Still got your mom’s card?”

In response, I flashed the card in my hand, and Baekhyun cheered, “Alright!” He bounced out of his seat. Before I had even unfastened my seatbelt, Baekhyun had barreled down most of the sidewalk, right past the Eternal Memories shop. 

“Where are you going?” I leaned out of the car window to call after him. 

He turned to face me, mask also serving to protect his identity from those who passed him on the sidewalk. “I gotta go get something! You go in and deal with the champagne glasses!” Without giving me the chance to argue— not that I would have in my shock— Baekhyun turned around and continued down the street. 

Unbelievable. 

Kind of believable. 

Cursing myself for getting swept into the position of cleaning up Baekhyun’s mess while he played around, I stepped out of the car and closed the door with a tired slam. There was no point in chasing Baekhyun or arguing once he set his mind to something— especially after he turned his back to me. I swallowed my annoyance, felt that my mask was still secured around my eyes, and ducked into the Eternal Memories store. 

The line leading to the sole open register wasn’t especially long. The problem was that the couple in front of me was determined to argue with the cashier, a young guy who couldn’t have been much older than me, for the rest of time. Well, the male half of the couple wanted to argue. 

While he ranted about how his girlfriend’s name had been misspelled on a sparkling red ornament, the girlfriend cradled her face in her hands. I didn’t blame her. As a witness, I was embarrassed by his behavior.

A man wearing a manager’s name tag appeared from the back of the store, I hoped, to open another register. A disappointed wheeze passed through my lips when he instead focused on diffusing the dispute between the customer and the young cashier. Realizing quickly that I wouldn’t be leaving the store with the replaced glasses any time soon, I tried to soothe my temper by fixing my attention on the shelves of high-end commemorative merchandise. 

After admiring snow globes, discounted (but still expensive) ornaments, and music boxes, my eyes fell on a picture frame with a small infinity symbol etched into the corner. I’m not sure which I remembered first: Donghae’s shattered picture frame or the infinity bracelet that he promised to give me that night. I’m not sure which memory prompted me to purchase the picture frame once the disruptive couple (finally) left after the girlfriend stormed out, shrieking until her face turned red, “I don’t even want that stupid ornament! You ruined Christmas by complaining about it, and now you’re ruining the new year with all this bickering!”

The boyfriend nearly knocked me over on his race out the door. He left the problem ornament sitting on the edge of the counter, and it remained there after I left. I don’t know if he ever returned for it or got it replaced with the correct spelling of his girlfriend’s name. I don’t really care. 

After I instructed the Eternal Memories employee to pack the box of replacement glasses into the van’s trunk, I found Baekhyun sitting on the rim of a nearby foundation despite a sign that (I realized upon closer inspection) read: **“PLEASE DO NOT SIT ON THE FOUNTAIN.”**

Although I didn’t obey his gesture to sit at his side because I didn’t want to break the rules myself, I didn’t have the heart to tell Baekhyun about the sign discouraging his behavior. Pointing at the bag in my hand, he asked, “What’s that?”

Instead of answering, I deflected the question, pointing at the box in his lap, then the drink in his hand that he eagerly sucked through a neon green straw. “What are those?”

“Boba tea.” He revealed that he had hidden another cup behind his back. “Here’s yours!”

Although I didn’t really care for milk tea, I accepted the cup with a smile. “Thank you.” 

He held the box out to me too. I only accepted it when he nodded, “Here, this is for you too.” 

Unwrapped, it looked like the box he and Sehun gave me at the Christmas party— the one that contained the mistletoe crown I would never hold again. The crown I hadn’t wanted until it was gone. 

I glanced at Baekhyun to ask where had gone and why, but my question died when I realized that his gaze had turned away from me to settle on the setting sun. It was weird. Baekhyun had never done anything without excitedly monitoring the reaction. So why didn’t he look at me? 

Unsure of what to say, I quietly opened the box and blinked at the crown of white roses sitting atop pale orange tissue paper. I set my picture frame and tea next to Baekhyun so I could use both hands to gingerly remove the crown. What had Taemin said about white roses? I tried to remember. 

Pure love. Secrecy. Baekhyun probably didn’t know that meaning. The color of these roses didn’t mean anything, but I blushed nonetheless. Contemplating the significance of roses, I didn’t mind that Baekhyun peeked into the bag containing the picture frame; I just wondered why he didn’t examine it more closely before setting it back down at his side. 

Swallowing the lump in my throat— I could only react to such unexpected kindness with tears— I croaked, “You didn’t have to buy this.”

“Didn’t I?” Baekhyun quirked a brow at me and straightened the rose in his coat pocket. I hadn’t noticed it before. It was pretty. 

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t have to give this to me.” But I was glad he did. To prove it, I fixed the crown onto my head and, clutching it so it wouldn’t fall onto the cobbled path beneath my feet, I bowed to Baekhyun. “Thank you.” 

He blinked at me, face glowing the same sunset pink coloring the clouds. “Don’t make a big deal of it,” he muttered as a small smile curled his lips. 

Maybe he didn’t think it was a big deal, but I kind of did. 

Leaving all of our collected items on the fountain’s rim to stand by my side, Baekhyun spent the next few moments in silence before deciding, “You’re welcome.” 

Because it seemed like the proper thing to do, I offered, “I’ll repay you,” but Baekhyun shook his head. 

“You’ve already repaid me.” He looked away from the sunset or the fountain or whatever he had been admiring to explain, “You— uh—” his eyes darted away from me— “you smiled when you opened it.” 

Before I could wonder how a smile could be an adequate payment, Baekhyun ran away. “We should probably go, huh? The moon and stars will be out soon, and that means that the fireworks at the party will start, and—”

Baekhyun was rambling. He always talked a lot, but there was always some chaotic method to his speech even if I couldn’t understand it. Perhaps more than ever, Baekhyun was acting like a normal person— how a normal person would react to embarrassment— but Baekhyun couldn’t get embarrassed. Besides, what had he done to justify any degree of shame?

Perhaps more than ever, I couldn’t understand Baekhyun. Rather than questioning him and risk making him more uncomfortable— or, worse, risk receiving answers that I couldn’t understand— I interrupted, “Did you know this is a wishing fountain?”

He held all of our purchases in his hands. “Oh, really?” His glance into the water must have revealed that coins littered the marble floor. “Before we go, let’s make a wish, okay?”

Baekhyun dropped our bags back onto the rim of the fountain and plucked his wallet from his pocket. I hadn’t the chance to mumble that I didn’t have any coins before he pressed a particularly worn one into my palm. 

“Watch this.” He stood with his back to the fountain and flicked the coin over his shoulder. It landed at the feet of the baby Cupid statue standing in the center of the fountain. Perhaps startled by the lack of a splash, Baekhyun spun around. “Did I make it?” 

He rushed to the fountain, trying to see where his coin had landed among others in the water. He seemed so determined to find it there that I was almost reluctant to tell him, “It landed at the angel’s feet.” Once I noticed Baekhyun’s small pout, I said, “When Super Junior used to take me to places like this when I was a kid, we aimed for the statues. It was something like getting bonus points.”

The bonus points, I think, were just their excitement at having been destructive to public property. 

Baekhyun beamed. “Then that means my wish will definitely come true!”

Did he even take the time to make a wish before launching his coin into the air? He must have. Otherwise, why would he have smiled at me like that?

One of the last times I went to a wishing fountain, Eunhyuk told me that only little kids ask others what they wished for, and Donghae quietly explained that if you tell someone your wish, it won’t come true. I don’t know that I believed in Donghae’s imagination even as a kid, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Baekhyun what he wished for. 

I don’t know if I ever believed that fountains could grant wishes, but I wished that in the coming year, everyone I knew and loved would find happiness— especially Mom and Donghae and Sehun. I even pressed a kiss to Baekhyun’s dirty coin like Donghae taught me before tossing it into the water with a big splash. 

“Oops,” Baekhyun huffed. Evidently, he decided that the goal was indeed to peg baby Cupid. “Maybe You’ll make it next time.” 

“Maybe,” I shrugged and reached for my picture frame and tea. “We should probably go now, especially because we have to stop by my house before we go back to the banquet hall.” 

“Your house?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrows as we rounded back to the van. He opened the door for me again. “Why do we have to go there? Won’t we be late?”

Baekhyun never struck me as the kind of person who cared much about punctuality, but maybe, I thought as I watched him ease into his seat and set the car onto the street, I didn’t really know Baekhyun well at all. That was too bad. I would have to get to know him better in the future. 

I started to say that we didn’t have to go if my house was too far out of the way, but Baekhyun spoke instead. “Do you have to go get the picture for the frame you bought?”

There was little point in denying my plan. “Yeah.” 

Baekhyun nodded and, without saying another word, he turned toward my house. I opened my mouth to thank him, but he started to sing a song— one I couldn’t recognize— that blared through the speakers. 

Unable to say what I wanted to say, unable to sing along, I lowered the sun visor and adjusted the rose crown on my head. Then, I noticed that the roses were accented by blue baby’s breath. I made a mental note to research whether there was any symbolism behind that, but I think I forgot. I wish I had remembered. 

“Hey!” Baekhyun interrupted his song with a yell. “I told you not to make a big deal about it!” I didn’t really know what he was talking about until he pointed at the flower crown. 

I didn’t apologize for admiring it or anything. Once I was satisfied that the crown wasn’t lopsided or anything, I closed the visor and snorted at Baekhyun’s returned blush. 

While Baekhyun waited in the van, I dashed upstairs to my bedroom, where I learned to reconcile the past and the present by fitting the old photograph into its new frame. This time, when we smiled back at me, neither sadness nor regret seized my heart. This time, I realized that I would see those same smiles— just a bit aged— at the party. 

Finally, I understood as my thumb traced over the infinity symbol in the corner of the frame, the smiles shone forever in my memory. There, they were safe. There, they remained untouched by time. 

One must be mindful when mourning the passage of time. If you spend too much time looking back, you risk missing the beauty currently before you, and that is no small tragedy. You can’t look too anxiously toward the future, either. You can ruin the night if you spend the time worrying about what could happen when the sun rises— that’s what Taemin taught me. 

The only option, then, is to live in the present. I decided to try harder to live for now. 

After setting the picture frame down on the vanity, convinced that it would make its way back to its rightful owner— Donghae— even if I didn’t return it to him myself, after glancing fondly at Donghae’s smiling poster (which Lucas had helped me return to its place on the wall the morning after the Christmas party), I ran downstairs and out the front door to find Baekhyun smiling in the van’s driver’s seat. I would have asked what he was so happy about were it not for the sudden buzzing of my phone. 


	13. Belong

The S.M. New Year’s party had been hosted at the same banquet hall for as long as I could remember. It was a fancy sort of place that made me feel out of place first as a child, then as a teenager, and then as an adult as I walked at Baekhyun’s side, heels clicking against the shining white marble floor. 

My insecurity started to melt with the first whispers of, “Wow, is that Lei? She looks so grown up,” and, “She looks pretty.” Although flattered, I wasn’t vain enough to steal a glance at my reflection in the overhead mirrored ceiling. Still, I couldn’t quite bite back my smile as I brought my fingers up to graze the soft petals of my flower crown. 

My smile didn’t falter until the whispers changed— dropped so that I had to strain to hear. 

“Is she walking with Baekhyun?”

“Isn’t he a little too old for her?”

“They’re a bit bold, aren’t they— matching each other like that?”

“Anyway, they’re a very pretty couple, right?”

I stiffened at Baekhyun’s side because this was my old nightmare— being associated with a dating scandal— come to life. My steps slowed and then almost stopped altogether when I looked up at our reflections and saw what everyone else saw: Me and Baekhyun standing too close together, wearing clothes crafted from the same sparkling midnight blue material, donning similar silver masks, accenting our formal attire with white roses— mine atop my head, Baekhyun’s in the suit pocket over his heart. I had never been to a prom, owing to the fact that I had been homeschooled, but Baekhyun and I looked like what I imagined a prom king and queen would look like.

It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing had we made any deliberate effort to match. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing had my heart not been swelling with the excitement of finding Taemin, who had planned to subtly coordinate his appearance with mine. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing had I not devoted much of my free time leading up to that night to reading that story about Baekhyun. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing had I not tripped, drawing a collective gasp from everyone in the room. 

As if enacting a scene from a drama— or, worse, from that story— Baekhyun caught me around the waist and gently pulled me upright. While I tried (and failed) to fit my foot back into my shoe, Baekhyun kept his arm loosely laced around my waist, muttering, “You’re already tripping over yourself, and you haven’t even had anything to drink yet.” 

His efforts to keep me on my feet and paint a smile onto my blushing face only fueled the spreading belief that we were attending the party as a couple. Because I was using Baekhyun as a crutch, I couldn’t flinch away from him as my instincts begged. I just had to set my jaw and brave the whispers. 

From the other side of the room, someone bellowed, “Are you okay?” I didn’t have to glance over to see him, hands forming a megaphone around his mouth, to know that the voice belonged to Na Jaemin. 

Humiliated beyond all comprehension by the attention, I retreated into Baekhyun’s embrace and quietly watched as he dismissed Jaemin’s concern with the wave of his hand. The SuperM table couldn’t have been more than five feet away, but the rest of that walk seemed to take a lifetime. 

In that lifetime, I hadn’t gathered the nerve to speak before settling into the space next to Lucas. What little confidence I had recovered dissipated at the sight of Chanyeol, who stood, chortling with Ten. Ten, at least, once he met my eyes, had the decency to drop his laughter at my expense into his champagne glass. Chanyeol, emboldened by our longtime mutual hatred, made no effort to disguise his laughter. 

My eternal complaint about the New Year’s party: there were no chairs at the tall tables. Mom explained again and again that the lack of seats was meant to encourage mingling among staff and artists. Anyway, being a lady wearing a dress, I couldn’t plop onto the floor to fix my shoe. I steadied myself against the table and, leaning into Lucas as he asked, “Are you alright, Lei? It kinda looked like your trip hurt,” I tried to secure the back strap of the shoe around my heel. 

Voice snipped short by embarrassment, I hissed, “It did hurt,” which only tickled Chanyeol further. 

I barely had the time to glance at Taemin (who I had been most excited to see) looking absolutely beautiful even in his white mask at Kai’s side on the opposite side of the table, before Mark demanded my attention. Panting after his sprint from NCT Dream’s table, he asked, “Yo, Lei, are you okay?”

Thinking that it would have been easier to overcome my burning blush and the faint throbbing of my foot if everyone could agree to a) stop asking if I was okay and b) stop laughing, I nodded. “Yeah, Mark.” 

“Good.” Mark grabbed a champagne glass and chugged the drink in one sip. “You shouldn't be embarrassed, you know. Everyone has clumsy moments. Remember when I fell on my way to the bathroom during our flight to America?”

While Kai and Lucas, at Mark’s remark, joined Chanyeol and Ten in laughter, I shook my head, “No.” Even if I had remembered Mark’s fall, I would have lied. I could never really find the humor in that kind of embarrassment. 

“You were a little busy,” Lucas acknowledged, draping an arm over my shoulders and glancing indiscreetly at Taemin (who stared at me and deepened my blush), “so let me tell you that Mark’s fall was, like, the funniest thing in the history of all time.” 

Chanyeol snorted. “Look, there’s no way anything has ever been funnier than our princess—” he referenced my branding snidely— “nearly busting her ass in front of everyone.”

Earning a glare from Taeyong, Ten reasoned, “Actually, based on the trajectory of her fall, had Baekhyun not reached out as Prince Charming, the princess would’ve busted her face.” 

There was an important distinction between Chanyeol and Ten: Ten was my friend, and Chanyeol was not. Ten’s teasing, although occasionally annoying, was harmless. Ten always had my back when it counted. Bearing that in mind, for Ten’s sake, I tried to repress the eternal urge to tear into Chanyeol. I just looked at Taemin, hoping that his small supportive smile would brighten the night. 

Evidently determined to improve my mood, Mark smiled at me too. “You look really pretty, Lei.”

Baekhyun, bored with having been quiet for so long, leaned onto the table and asked, batting his eyelashes, “What about me?” 

Wide-eyed, Mark realized, “Oh, wow! You’re matching!” which compelled everyone at the table to look at me and Baekhyun with renewed interest. Perhaps noticing that I squirmed with discomfort, fixing my eyes anywhere except Taemin and Baekhyun, Mark added, “There’s nothing wrong with that! I coordinated with NCT Dream to wear chewing gum pink!”

In the moment, I couldn’t even appreciate how cute that was. Nobody else responded to Mark either. 

Poorly masking his smirk behind his glass, Ten stretched across the table to study Taemin’s reaction to his question, “What do you think about that, Taemin? Lei matching Baekhyun, I mean.” 

Maybe Ten was disappointed that Taemin didn’t glance at him for even the briefest second, or maybe he was more satisfied that Taemin didn’t look away from me as he answered, “I think she looks beautiful.” 

**A collection of my thoughts in that moment:**

  1. Taemin was embarrassing me. 
  2. He was being way too obvious about our relationship— right in front of that idiot Chanyeol. 
  3. My heart was going to beat out of my chest if he didn’t stop looking at me like that. 
  4. I didn’t want him to look away. 
  5. This blush would never fade. 
  6. If Taemin was jealous of Jaemin’s earlier concern and my accidental matching with Baekhyun that was obvious enough for Mark to notice (and, knowing Taemin’s temperament, he probably was), I wouldn’t hear about it until later if (when) he climbed in through my bedroom window. 



Taemin watched me, cocking his head aside, so I opened my mouth to thank him for the compliment, but before I could make our relationship any more obvious to onlookers, Chanyeol interrupted with his lack of manners. “Is that why you tripped over yourself, princess? Were you admiring your own reflection in the ceiling or the fact that you already have someone else to cling to?”

Initially, I silently gasped at Chanyeol’s indirect reference Sehun— the first (and maybe only) person I had ever clung to without caring who saw. Then, I remembered that if Chanyeol was here, Sehun couldn’t have been far behind; they were always kind of inseparable. My blood went cold. My heart stopped beating. 

No, I didn’t want to avoid Sehun anymore. I wanted to abandon that habit after he had been honest with me about his feelings. But maybe, I realized with a frown, he wanted to avoid me. Maybe he needed to avoid me for a while so that one day he could look at me without wincing. I understood— I avoided him because I thought that would lessen the pain in my chest— but I was still disappointed. 

I must have looked as guilty as I felt. Chanyeol rolled his eyes at me and set his glass down with a thud. At my side, Baekhyun recoiled. Eyes fixed on the black table cloth, Baekhyun protectively reached for the glass and shielded it with his hands. Chanyeol didn’t care. Maybe he didn’t want anymore to drink. Maybe he didn’t even notice Baekhyun’s actions because his eyes— wide, protruding— were burning through me. 

I won’t pretend to be an expert on Sehun, but I knew how he used to defend me from Chanyeol’s temper when I was a kid. I knew that the Sehun who begged me to admit just once that I loved him wouldn’t have encouraged Chanyeol to look at me and speak to me as if I were the cruelest person alive. Because I didn’t care what Chanyeol thought— I cared what Sehun thought— that fact comforted me. 

Refusing to allow Chanyeol to drown me in guilt after I apologized to Sehun, after Lucas promised that I had done nothing wrong, when I was already sorry enough for the years wasted holding a grudge against somebody I loved without Chanyeol’s reminders, I returned his glare. He didn’t know what he was talking about, as usual. There was no doubt in my mind that Sehun, who struggled to reveal his heart to me, hadn’t bared his deepest feelings to Chanyeol, so I huffed, “Why don’t you just shut the hell up, Chanyeol? Isn’t there somebody else you can talk to?”

“Nope,” he retorted, knuckles turning white. “Not that it’s any of your business— not that you would even give a shit— but the only person I really want to talk to stayed home because he has ‘the flu.’”

My feelings, wounded by the confirmation that Sehun was avoiding me, were nothing compared to my concern for him. Blinking, I tried to dismiss the pain of knowing that there was nothing I could say to rush us through this period of healing. Blinking, I assured myself again and again that it was okay. 

Although Sehun couldn’t hear me, I promised in the piece of my heart that he would hold forever that I wouldn’t hold any grudge. Without holding my breath, I would wait until he was ready to speak to me again. Before I fell in love with Taemin, I had abandoned the hope that things with Sehun would ever be like they once were. Before I fell in love with Taemin, I had outgrown the childish unreciprocated love for Sehun that defined much of my youth. I couldn’t have followed him forever. 

However, I had recently adopted the belief that friendship with Sehun didn’t have to be confined to the past. No, I couldn’t love Sehun (or anybody) the way I used to, but I didn’t believe that such a pure love could ever fade forever. It would only grow into something better, something purer, something more infinite. Chanyeol’s rage couldn’t steal that belief from me. 

Missing Chanyeol’s air quotes around the word ‘flu,’ Mark’s brow furrowed in genuine concern. Undeniably referencing Mom’s illness (which he hadn’t accepted was fake) that excused her from Donghae’s birthday party, he sulked, “Someone else has the flu?”

As if joking without the faintest trace of a smile, Baekhyun muttered, “It’s been an active flu season.” Because he spoke so quietly, I’m sure that I’m the only person who heard. 

“See?” Chanyeol’s fists struck the table, and the glass would have fallen over had Baekhyun not held it secure in his hands. “You’re completely heartless, Lei! I’ll never understand what anyone sees in you!”

Those kinds of remarks— the kind that are meant to strike me silent— have always set me ablaze with burning indignation. Fitting my hands over my hips, probably transforming before Chanyeol’s eyes into the child he always despised, I scoffed, “Yeah, well, whatever will I do without your love and devotion, Chanyeol?” much to Ten’s delight. 

Chanyeol’s jaw tensed. “You’ve always been like this— a total smart ass!” I winked, and he continued, “You just say what you want and do what you want without respecting your elders or caring who you hurt. And somehow, everyone around you thinks it’s endearing or some shit, but I’m here to remind you that it’s not.” 

Cutting his eyes at Chanyeol as his grip around the glass tightened, Baekhyun started, “Look, whatever your problem is—” 

But— surprise— Chanyeol wouldn’t let Baekhyun speak. Still glaring at me, Chanyeol challenged, “Aren’t you even going to try to deny it? I guess you can’t, but aren’t you even going to apologize?”

I shook my head. “The last time I checked, I hadn’t said anything to you that I regret.” 

Chanyeol blinked at me. “So you don’t regret telling me to shut the hell up?”

“Nope.” Despite my annoyance, I smiled— the big, tooth showing sort of smile— and I understood why Chanyeol didn’t like me. “I stand by that and every other thing I’ve said in my life.”

That wasn’t true, exactly, but I tried to live with the satisfaction of having always said what I meant. Maybe I was prompted to say things that I would regret because I felt the remorse of having left some past truths unsaid. I could always apologize once I realized that I was wrong or I hurt somebody with my honesty; I could never turn back time and say what I wanted to say once the moment passed. 

“There you go again,” Chanyeol huffed, “thinking that you’re infallible, failing to admit—”

“I’m not apologizing to you, Chanyeol, for telling the truth. I’m not apologizing because S—” I choked on Sehun’s name— “somebody else is hurt.” No, I wouldn’t tell Chanyeol that I had already apologized to Sehun. It wasn’t his business. “You’re not entitled to any fragment of my heart.” 

Before I could brace myself for Chanyeol’s response, a cool, calm hand rested on my shoulder. It belonged to Suho, who asked first, “Are you okay, Lei?”

I didn’t know if he was referring to my earlier trip or the long-winded public scolding from Chanyeol, but the answer to both questions was the same. “Yes.”

I turned to catch Suho’s brief smile before his disapproving scowl settled on Chanyeol. “Don’t you think you’re being too loud?” His voice was quiet, but it held a gentle authority that instantly made me feel ashamed for responding to Chanyeol at all. 

Although Suho’s question was not one that requested an answer, Chanyeol retorted, “I’m being just as loud as I want to be!”

It wasn’t until Suho’s hold on my shoulder trembled that I noticed them: Yesung and Siwon, scowling, followed closely by the evilly smiling Kyuhyun. There was something dangerous about the twitching of Yesung’s left eye as he descended on the table. Were it not for Suho’s protective grip and the crowd of spectators that gathered to watch me argue with Chanyeol trapping me in place, I would have run out of the banquet hall before Yesung started yelling. 

“What the hell is going on around here?” Before Chanyeol could prove whether he was stupid enough to argue with Yesung, Yesung continued, “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Yesung must not have been looking for an answer. Pointing at me without looking away from Chanyeol, he seethed, “She is ours—” he gestured to himself, Siwon, and Kyuhyun— “and if you have a problem with her, you have a problem with us!”

To demonstrate their solidarity, Siwon stood with his arms— clearly muscular under his fitted black button-down shirt— crossed over his chest, and Kyuhyun abandoned his smile to form his eyebrows into sharp angles. They meant well, I guessed, because Super Junior always meant well, but as I noticed the sea of spectators rising around us, I thought that if it were possible to die from embarrassment, I would have died in Suho’s arms. 

Mom’s appearance interrupted Yesung’s futile efforts to force Chanyeol to apologize. 

Having no sense of when to keep his mouth shut, Lucas leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Dude, at least Mom looks hot.” That was his version of finding the bright side, I guess. 

I rolled my eyes, but Mom did look even prettier than usual. Her hair was shiny and sleek even in the dim lighting, and her lips were painted a pretty shade of scarlet that complimented her sparkly red pantsuit. It was too ambitious to hope that I would grow to be as beautiful as my mother. 

“Are you okay, Lei?” She asked, tracing her fingers over one of the roses in my crown. “If your heel broke, or if your feet hurt, I have another pair of flats in the car.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine, Mom.” My voice sounded small compared to Yesung’s roar. 

Nodding, Mom turned to Yesung and Chanyeol. “What’s going on here?”

Nobody got the chance to answer her, though. While Baekhyun whined to Suho, “I’m not trying to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure Lei broke my big toe when she tripped over me,” and Suho responded, “I’m sorry you’re hurt, but I doubt it’s broken—” and Baekhyun retorted, “It’s throbbing, Junmyeon!” and Suho maintained, “You wouldn’t be able to stand if it were broken,” the other members of Super Junior arrived to sink the night further into the dark depths of chaos. 

They were led by Shindong, who threw Taeyong and Ten aside to fill their spaces at the table while screaming, red in the face, “What the hell, Manager?”

Seeking some sense of comfort in this time of utter insanity, I glanced at Lucas only to find him looking from person to person, eyes round and jaw slack. I should have known that this wasn’t a time for him to spout unexpected wisdom. At least we were unified in shock. 

Without allowing Mom the chance to ask him what was wrong, Shindong barked, “What’s this about you becoming EXO’s manager?”

Baekhyun, of course, perked up. He gawked at Suho. “Did you know about this?” 

“Of course,” Suho said. 

Perhaps genuinely offended, Baekhyun gasped, “And you didn’t tell me?”

Baekhyun’s frown deepened when Suho responded, “I know a lot of things that I don’t tell you.”

“Well,” Baekhyun wheezed, “we don’t want Momager!” He explained to my gasp, “We don’t want her if we’re running from Donghae. Tell her that we don’t want her, Junmyeon.” 

“I will not,” Suho decided sternly without asking about Donghae, “and you better not either. Just be quiet— at least until this conflict passes.” 

Appearing at Shindong’s side after shoving past Chanyeol, who responded by screaming, “OW!” Eunhyuk said, “Manager must have made her choice.” When Eunhyuk stared at Mom with narrowed eyes, it was obvious that he had stolen Donghae’s photograph and returned it to Mom. I tried not to glare at him. 

Tucking hair behind her ear, Mom asked, “How did you find out about that, Shindong?”

Oh. Suho already confirmed that it was true, but I guess I didn’t expect Mom to sound so sad. That was the only logical reaction since she had worked on every Super Junior comeback for years, but I couldn’t seem to recover from Mom’s frown. 

Leeteuk frowned, too, as he swore, “I didn’t tell him.” He must have been telling the truth; Leeteuk rarely missed an opportunity to stir up controversy as if all aspects of life were a live broadcast. 

Suho told Mom, “I haven’t told anyone either, ma’am,” just before Shindong yelled, “Heechul told us!”

Never failing to appear at the sound of his name, Heechul pushed through the crowd to stand by Mom. Pointing a finger at Shindong, he demanded, “Keep my name out of your mouth, you filthy snitch!”

Shindong’s lips parted, I’m sure, to hurl an insult at Heechul as the other Super Junior members started voicing their disappointment at losing Mom to EXO, but Mom silenced them all with little effort. “SHUT UP.” She had to yell or else nobody would have heard her over their own voice. 

Everyone watched with bated breath as Mom pinched at the bridge of her nose and released a ragged sigh. “Although I had no intention of announcing this at the New Year’s party, because of Heechul’s loose tongue—” when she cut her eyes at him, Heechul winked and wet his lips with his tongue— “I have to admit that I can’t be your manager anymore, Super Junior.”

Looking very much like a child, Shindong’s lower lip trembled. “Ever?”

I almost rolled my eyes and answered, “Nothing is forever, Shindong, but Mom will always be your manager,” so imagine my shock when Mom shook her head. Everybody gasped with me. 

Baekhyun took advantage of the silence. In a crumbling voice, he cried despite his past schemes to secure Mom as EXO’s manager, “We don’t want you, Momager. EXO doesn’t want you, so don’t leave Super Junior.” He must have been moved by all of the broken-hearted faces. 

Although something had been ripped from my chest, although tears were pooling and burning my eyes because my entire life had been me and Mom and Super Junior and now it was ending— no, not ending, just changing— but I didn’t want something so perfect to ever change— Mom grinned at Baekhyun’s outburst and patted his shoulders. When Mom smiled, even when it was that tired, teary-eyed smile, I had to smile too. It didn’t matter that everything in me wanted to cry. 

It occurred to me that the sun was setting on the best days of my life. Although I had always been the kind of person who preferred the company of the moon and stars, nobody who takes the time to watch the sunset is ever ready for the sun’s rays to fade. I told myself what everyone says to comfort themselves on the brink of great change: it was beautiful while it lasted, the sun will rise again tomorrow, memories are forever. 

I believed those things. I also believed that Super Junior would be a part of my life forever. Heechul wouldn’t stop coming over to watch dramas with me and Mom, Yesung wouldn’t stop calling me to chat about everything and nothing, Wookie would always want to have tea at least once a month. Super Junior was my family. 

So why couldn’t I catch my breath?

Yesung asked Mom, “Why not?” As he bit back tears, the dimple in his chin deepened. “So you’ll work with EXO after you’re done with this SuperM stuff. Fine. That’s how it goes. But why can’t you work with us next time?”

Everybody looked to Mom for her answer, but she dodged the question anyway. After drawing a deep breath, she told every member of Super Junior what she loved them. It was clear that she had prepared her remarks beforehand. I wondered how she might have broken the news to everyone had she not been confronted at the party. 

“Leeteuk, you’ve always been such a good leader. From day one, you made my job look easy. On stressful days, you never failed to comfort me with subtle smiles when you thought nobody would notice because you never wanted anyone to see me struggle. I always noticed, and I was always grateful.” 

Leeteuk bowed, smiling despite the tears in his eyes. 

“Heechul,” Mom’s voice wavered when she looked at him. “You always listen to me, and you never judge. Even when I’m wrong, you defend me to the ends of the earth.” 

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Heechul boasted, “That’s because you’re never wrong.” He made Mom smile. That was always Heechul’s gift.

Mom snaked an arm around Heechul’s waist and continued, “You have the best taste in everything. You let me cry when we’re watching dramas, and you never look at me or make fun of me for getting emotional. The most important part is that you’re kind enough to pretend that you don’t know why I’m so moved.” 

Heechul patted Mom’s shoulder, encouraging her to say, “Yesung—”

Yesung was already in tears. There was nothing worse than seeing Yesung cry. Although there was barely any room to breathe, let alone take a step, I made my way over to him, linked my arm with his, and offered him a smile that made him laugh despite his tears. 

“— you have always been like a brother. You aren’t just willing to fight anyone who crosses me; you’ve always protected Lei with your all. We can’t cry in front of you, though—” Mom winked at me— “because you threaten to beat people up, and you throw things in anger.”

Yesung wiped at his eyes with his free hand and chuckled. “Yeah, well, people should know better than to mess with you, then.”

I didn’t want to say anything to interrupt, so I hoped that my presence was enough of a comfort for Yesung. I didn’t want him to cry anymore. 

“Shindong, you always make me laugh,” Mom said, “and you have always lightened the mood whenever things got awkward.” That was ironic, considering that we were all forced to be publicly emotionally vulnerable because of Shindong’s confrontation. “Thank you for fighting to have me on your team whenever SuJu has a comeback. Thank you for always telling people that I am the only one who can make the comeback successful. I owe so much of my career to your enthusiastic praise.”

“You’re welcome,” Shindong said as he bowed. “I only tell the truth, Manager.” 

“Eunhyuk—” He stiffened at his name— “you always pick up the slack and take initiative without having to be asked. You always see where I am lacking, and you fill in the spaces that need to be filled. You are one of the most dependable people I have ever known.” 

Eunhyuk could only blink at the compliment. His eyes were fixed on the floor, I think, because he didn’t like for people to see when he was emotional. His bow was more of a nod. 

Until now, Mom had addressed the members of Super Junior in age order. After Eunhyuk should have been Donghae, but Mom skipped over him and effectively trapped my breath in my throat. I couldn’t even see Donghae. Had he stayed home to avoid Mom as he had stayed home from the Christmas party? Was he avoiding Mom the way Sehun was avoiding me?

No. He had to be standing somewhere not too far away. He promised that he would be there. He promised that he would give me that infinity bracelet. He was there; I believed it even if I couldn’t see him. 

Mom still held everyone’s attention when she said, “Siwon, you are always a rock. You face everything— even challenges— with a smile. You turn every stranger into a friend. Plus—” Mom smiled— “you have always encouraged me and Lei to exercise, eat healthily, and participate in community service.”

Reddening at the compliments as his smile etched dimples around his lips, Siwon bowed. 

“Wookie—” Ryeowook beamed at the nickname, sniffling— “thank you for always looking out for Lei and playing with her no matter how busy you were. Thank you for reminding me to find room for fun between jobs.”

“It has always been my pleasure,” Wookie promised as he bowed. 

Kyuhyun smiled broadly when Mom turned to him. “I’ll never forget when you first joined the group. Lei was right— it was incomplete without you.” 

I burned at the memory of my overenthusiastic embrace of Kyuhyun’s introduction to Super Junior, and Kyuhyun laughed as he playfully nudged my ribs. 

“You have always been the kind of person who would give someone your jacket during a snowstorm, or let somebody keep your umbrella in a thunderstorm. You would turn the attention to yourself with a joke if ever I needed a chance to catch my breath, and I am beyond grateful. Thank you for being one of the most considerate people I have ever met.”

Rather than bowing like so many of the others, Kyuhyun responded with a wink and a salute.

“Donghae.” 

This was it: the first time that Mom and Donghae had seen each other since their argument after the birthday party. My heart pounded against my chest, and I tightened my grip around Yesung’s arm when Eunhyuk pulled Donghae to his side. 

Out of everybody, Donghae looked most miserable. He couldn’t lift his heavy gaze from the floor, where he must have met his frowning reflection. I had to look away; I couldn’t stand to see him looking like that. 

“Yeah?” Donghae mumbled. 

“You’re, um, persistent. You love purely, and you’re loyal to a fault. You— um—”

I had never known Mom to stutter, and apparently Donghae hadn’t either. He stared up at her, brow furrowed, and she hurriedly concluded, “You’re a good person.” 

Compared to what she had said to everyone else, Mom’s goodbye to Donghae was a bit lacking. Not wanting to be overly critical in such a tense moment, I cast my glare down to my feet. 

Still speaking almost too quickly to comprehend, Mom said, “I know that you probably think it’s your fault that I’m not managing Super Junior anymore, and it is—” 

The room had gone quiet enough that I could hear the wheeze pass through his lips. It would have been obvious enough from the sudden sagging of his shoulders and downward twitch of his mouth. 

“— but not for the reason that you think.”

Moments passed in silence as everyone tried to decipher the cryptic sentence’s meaning before Eunhyuk demanded, eyes piercing, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Heechul, who had the unfair advantage of knowing almost every thought that passed through Mom’s mind, belted, “It means that she’s in love with Donghae, you stupid ass anchovy! She can’t work with the person she’s in love with because she’s a professional!”

Eyes wide and full of color, Donghae gasped, “What?”

And before Mom could embarrass us all by stuttering her confirmation or denial of Heechul’s allegation, Changmin’s voice said through the speakers, “Uh, so, it’s almost midnight! Woohoo!” Receiving only grumbles from the party-goers who were too invested in Momhae to care about the arrival of the new year, Changmin continued flatly, “So grab whoever you want to kiss and head out to the terrace to watch fireworks!”

People exited slowly at first, and then, when I opened my eyes, the room was mostly empty aside from Mom and Donghae, who stared at each other in utter shock. I think I would have stood there all night, mouth agape, to watch the conclusion of fifteen years of unrequited love had Taemin not looped his arm around my waist. 

“Didn’t you hear Max?” Taemin muttered into my ear. “He said ‘it’s almost midnight, so grab whoever you want to kiss and head out onto the terrace.’”

For a moment, I was so flattered by Taemin’s attention, I was so absorbed in his touch that the ache in my chest was soothed. The void was filled. Then I caught Lucas staring at Mom and Donghae with tears in his eyes. I know that he would have stayed there all night if I hadn’t grabbed his hand, mumbling, “Come on, Lucas. We have to give them privacy.”

Although he was too polite to admit it with his words, it was obvious from his closed-lip grin that Taemin had been hoping that we would run out to the terrace alone. Don’t misunderstand: I really, really wanted to kiss Taemin, but everything in the world came second to ensuring that Lucas was okay. 

“Hey,” I said into the cool nighttime air. 

No response. 

I tightened my grip around Lucas’s hand and shouted his name. 

Again, no response. 

Spinning out of Taemin’s grasp, I placed both of my hands on either side of Lucas’s face and forced him to meet my eyes. “You’re scaring me, Lucas. Are you okay?” I guess the obvious answer was a sort of ‘no.’ Clearly, Lucas was in shock, and I couldn’t blame him for being unable to pick his jaw up from the floor. 

At my touch, Lucas snapped back to life. “Mom loves Donghae!” He cheered loudly over the scattered whispers on the terrace. “Heechul said that Mom loves Donghae!”

Lucas’s excitement gave me permission to smile. “I know—”

Forgetting in his joy that I had a problem with being picked up, Lucas hooked his hands around my waist and spun me around, chanting, “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

All I could say was, “Put me down, Lucas!” in a shrill scream as I slapped at his shoulders. It didn’t matter that I knew Lucas would never intentionally drop me; some primal fear seized my mind and left me trembling well after Lucas set me back onto my feet. 

Much to Taemin’s delight, I dashed to his side and linked my arm through his to discourage Lucas from touching me again. “I know it’s all very exciting, but there’s no reason to pick me up. Ever.”

Looking back, I regret being so stern with Lucas in what might have been the happiest moment of his life, but he couldn’t have cared less about the scolding. He squealed, “I’m so happy!” before running off to find somebody (probably Mark) who shared his enthusiasm or to give Taemin the privacy he desired with me. 

“You’re a little feistier than I thought,” Taemin teased once we were left alone— well, as alone as we could have been at a huge company gathering. “First, you argued with Chanyeol, and then you just hit Lucas.”

I reddened at Taemin’s brief recap of my temper throughout the night. In the immediate aftermath of my exchange with Chanyeol, I was embarrassed that Suho had been a witness; I hadn’t considered that Taemin had witnessed the very same exchange. For so long, I had been uncomfortably conscious of his eyes on me, but in those moments, I hadn’t felt his stare. 

Did that mean that I was getting comfortable with Taemin? No matter how comfortable we were together, I never wanted him to witness my anger. That was probably unrealistic since anger is a natural emotion. It was probably impossible to always be happy around Taemin given his almost obsession with honest communication of feelings. It was probably impossible since our love had been born in the midst of sadness. 

I apologized anyway, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry you saw that. I wish you hadn’t. It’s no excuse, but Chanyeol and I have never gotten along. And hitting Lucas was only an instinct because I’m afraid of—”

“Hey.” Taemin cut me off with a smile, and I was grateful that everyone else was too busy gossiping about Mom and Super Junior to see it written across my face that I was in love with him. “I’m kinda glad I saw that side of you.” He winked. “I kinda think your temper is cute.” 

Taemin giggled at my blush as I mumbled, glancing away, “You have strange taste.” 

Once he registered my words, however, he poked out his bottom lip in a childish pout. “That’s not very nice, jagi.” He whispered the pet name so nobody else could hear. “Stop being mean so I can show you something.” 

When I asked what he wanted to show me, Taemin laced his fingers through mine and led me to an isolated area that wasn’t quite the terrace or the roof. There, we couldn’t hear the whispers scattered among the party. There, we could be free to act without the fear of attracting stares. 

I stepped forward, careful not to trip over a checkered blanket on the floor, rested my hands on the railing lined with small white lights that resembled the twinkling stars above, and looked up at the glittering night sky. It looked so much like my memories of that night in the garden, but I knew that it couldn’t have been exactly as it had been in the past. 

Again, it came to me— that dream about holding the moon— and all that kept me from reaching out was Taemin’s hand (soft and warm unlike the frozen rail) in mine. I didn’t reach out even after Taemin released my hand to unfasten his mask. The dream, for a moment, faded from my mind as I set to removing my mask too. The dream changed into something tangible when Taemin shed his jacket and held it out to me.

“Thank you,” I breathed as we dropped our masks at our feet. Fitting my arms through his jacket’s sleeves, I beamed at him. “It’s very beautiful up here, Taemin.” 

“You’re welcome.” Taemin leaned closer and closer to me until his words ghosted against my lips and our breath met as a misty white cloud between us. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth as if to discourage my pulsating desire to just rush time, to just brush my lips against his once— quickly— before the fireworks gave us permission, Taemin asked, “What time is it?”

“Um—” My heart thundered, hands trembling, as I fished my phone out of my purse. “That can’t be right,” I argued with my screen. “Changmin said that it was almost midnight, but’s only 11:15.” 

“What?” Taemin gawked at my phone screen. “Oh, great! And the SuperM group chat is blowing up too!”

Pouting, after he pulled his phone out of his pants’ pocket, Taemin plopped onto the blanketed ground. When he motioned for me to sit with him and I responded quietly that it wasn’t very ladylike, Taemin insisted, “It’s just us up here, Lei. I don’t think sitting makes you unladylike.” He patted the blanket and reasoned, “I put this up here so we could sit. Won’t your feet hurt if you just stand there all night?”

Frowning less because I was giving in (again) to satisfy Taemin and more because I realized that we had abandoned the perfect moment to share our first kiss— we had been so close, and now we were not— I sat at Taemin’s side and read through the texts.

  


  


  


  


  


  


Taemin, who had been giggling since his use of the sparkly heart emoji in the group chat, slung his arm around my shoulder. “What are you so happy about, Lei?”

Too happy to speak even to answer Taemin, I rose to my feet— now bare— and strained to watch Mom and Donghae walk out onto the terrace hand in hand. They couldn’t see me, but I could see them. Even from afar, I could see their smiles and their matching red thread bracelets. Even from afar, I could see the burden lifted from their shoulders, and all at once I was in danger of soaring too far up into the clouds. 

From where I stood, I could see all of Super Junior unite to wrap Mom and Donghae into a hug whose warmth I could feel in my heart and all around me. In that embrace was fifteen years’ worth of love, and the child within me felt that I should have been there. 

The child within me was silenced when Taemin wrapped an arm around my waist, laid his head on my shoulder to brush his lips against my cheek, and whispered, “I want to give you something.” 

With the hand accented by my ribbon, he held out a single red rose.

Remembering the first broken rose he gave me in the garden, breathing in relief that this one was whole and beautiful, I accepted it with my hands. “It’s so beautiful, Taemin.” 

All of the night’s emotions caught up with me at once and manifested as tears that weren’t quite heavy enough to fall from my eyes although Taemin’s hands were ready to catch them. “I just— I have nothing to give you, and you’ve given me so much.” 

**_Not just tonight_** , I would have said had my throat not tightened around my voice. **_You have given me so many beautiful things. You have taught me so many lessons that I will carry into my day even when the sun rises, and I don’t know if I have given enough back to you._**

**_Even if I love you for the rest of my life— and I can’t imagine the day that I will wake up without the warmth of loving you spreading through my chest and every thought in my mind— I never want to imagine such a day— could I ever repay you for all you’ve brought to my life? Can I ever thank you enough for having the voice that heals my every wound? Can I ever be grateful enough to live in this world where our paths crossed? Can I ever be thankful enough for every wound and joy that forged the heart you so carefully hold?_ **

I didn’t know how to say any of those things out loud with my fragile voice, so how could I have known any of the answers? All I could do was drop the rose from my numb fingers and throw my arms around Taemin, hoping that he would understand without words as he always had. 

He caught me around the waist and held me close. I know this is wrong— I know this spits in the face of everything I learned in those few months that felt like a lifetime— but I never wanted that moment to end. I wanted to live forever with Taemin in the light of the moon. To the point of tears, I was happy that the stars kindly aligned to allow me to get this close to him. 

“Lei,” he whispered, “why do you still not believe that your love is all I’ve ever wanted? Is it so crazy for me to believe that everything in life has led to our moments under the moon?” 

“No.” I loosened my embrace to look at his frowning face. “No. Can’t you feel that I believe it too?” I reached for the ribbon tied around his wrist and, after struggling to undo the knot, watched the stars gather in his eyes as I raised his pulse point to meet my kiss.

“Yeah, I feel it,” Taemin admitted while I retied the ribbon’s knot, this time fully aware of its significance, this time believing with every fiber of my being that my soul loved Taemin’s in its entirety, this time understanding that he trusted me with his heart, this time promising to cherish it even should the sun set (or rather, the sun rise) on this beautiful day too. “But can you tell me what you feel sometimes anyway? Sometimes, I just want to hear it.”

Thinking that it was only right to tell somebody when your heart is swelling, I blurted, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” and he would have let me say it for the rest of the night had he not dropped his gaze down to the fallen rose.

“You know--” Taemin sat back on the blanket, and I followed him-- “none of this is going as I planned.” The pout returned to his lips. “I spent all week saying that I wanted to match you head to toe for the party, but Jongin was all like, ‘That’s excessive, Taemin. Do you really want everyone at the party to know that you’re a couple?’ And even though I told him that I don’t care who knows that I’m in love with you, he was like, ‘It’s still over the top!’ And then Baekhyun showed up, clinging to your arm, matching you down to the flower!”

I tried not to laugh at Taemin’s accurate imitation of Kai’s voice. To soothe his jealousy— which now made me want to burst into laughter— I traced patterns over his knuckles. “Baekhyun didn’t try to match me.” 

“That makes it worse!” Taemin whined. “Anyway, that’s not all that has gone wrong. At the mall today, Jongin kept discouraging all of my amazing ideas. He told me not to buy that giant stuffed bear, and he told me not to get a dozen roses, and he told me not to buy a box of chocolates, and he said that people don’t serenade girls in real life, so I had to tell Henry not to show up with his violin, but Jongin wouldn’t let me bring my keyboard either!”

I nodded understandingly at first, careful not to mention that I agreed with Kai— left unattended, Taemin would have gone overboard— but my nodding ceased when he mentioned Henry. Obviously, I loved Henry to pieces, but having him as a witness for my first kiss with Taemin didn’t exactly sound like a dream come true. 

“Jongin even told me that the lights I put up on the railing were too much! He said that all we needed was starlight! And now I can’t even kiss you yet because it’s not midnight, and—”

“Taemin,” I interrupted, knowing that he would find faults for the rest of the night unless I admitted, “I think everything is perfect.” When that didn’t satisfy him, I tried my hand at expressing wisdom. “I mean, when I left my house today, I didn’t plan to trip in front of everybody and Na Jaemin—”

An almost indiscernible smile tugged at Taemin’s lips as he rolled his eyes at Jaemin’s name. 

“— and I didn’t want to see Chanyeol, much less talk to him! And I definitely didn’t want to see Yesung cry. Actually, I didn’t imagine that I would ever hear any of the things that Mom said to Super Junior. I never imagined there would be a day where she wouldn’t be their manager, but—” I sighed, accepting— “what’s done is done. Life doesn’t always go as planned, and I think that’s okay as long as you like where you end up.”

Taemin looked at me as I imagined I might have looked at him that night in the garden. I hoped that we would look at each other that way always. “Do you like where you ended up?” He asked, looking away as if he was afraid to pressure me into an untrue answer that would please him. “Up here with me?”

With ease, I spoke a truth that once would have been too embarrassing to utter. “Anywhere with you is where I want to end up.”

At that, Taemin smiled before checking his phone. It must not have been midnight yet; he flipped the phone over with a tired sigh. The night fell silent because I didn’t know what to say after being so honest, and Taemin was too busy caressing the roses in my hair to say anything. 

Without warning, he brought the red rose in his hand to his mouth and gnawed at the stem. With wide eyes, I could only watch in utter confusion as he spat out green chunks. That moment was weird and kind of gross, to tell you the truth.

“Ow!” Taemin cried as a thorn pierced his lip. 

I gasped, “Are you okay?” but he could only smile because he finally succeeded in separating the rose from the stem. That must have been his mission. 

“It was just a pinch,” he claimed, probably oblivious to the thin trail of blood dripping down his chin as he tied his flower into my crown. “That stem tasted pretty terrible, though.” He stuck his tongue out.

I reached into my purse for a pack of tissues and a mint and offered them to Taemin. “Here.” He only opened his mouth, still focused intently on the crown, so I unwrapped the mint and fed it to him as if he were a child. 

Would I go to any length just to see his smile? If so, I must have been disappointed when he grimaced as I gently pressed the tissue to his blood-stained lip.

Knowing that any pain was the result of his own weird, impulsive behavior, I muttered, “I’m sorry if it hurts,” as if it were my fault that he was bleeding. “But I can’t kiss your bloody lip, Taem.”

Taemin didn’t respond even after I retracted the tissue, balled it up, and tossed into the corner with the masks. He only stared at the crown, brow furrowing until lines formed in his forehead, and finally yanked the red rose away. 

“Ow.” I wheezed although losing the rose hadn’t physically hurt. “Why did you take that?”

“It looked ugly,” Taemin answered, gripping the rose too tightly. Instantly, he remembered that flowers are fragile, and he held it tenderly, frowning down at it in his hand. “I was stupid to try to put it in your crown. Just look at it.”

Taemin must have been right. Aside from the fact that his red rose’s shade must have clashed against the crown’s blue baby’s breath, it was three or four times bigger than the crown’s white roses. Still, I didn’t think Taemin was stupid for wanting to make his mark on Baekhyun’s gift. 

Knowing that it wouldn’t look right, believing that Taemin’s rose probably didn’t belong among Baekhyun’s roses, I begged, “Put it back.” Taemin shook his head, so I pointed out, “You gave it to me. It’s not yours to take, Taemin, so put it back.”

“No,” Taemin argued, jaw tense and face flushing an embarrassed shade of scarlet. “It looked really bad. I don’t want to ruin something as pretty as your flower crown with this stupid rose.”

“Stop talking like that.” Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but it was. Who was he to talk down to that flower when I loved it? How could he believe that he was capable of ruining anything? “You’re not ruining anything. Please, Taemin—”

“It’s enough that you want it,” Taemin said when I first reached for the rose. “Thank you for lying to make me feel better, but I can’t focus on kissing you if this—” he shook the rose— “is in your hair.”

I wasn’t lying— not really— but I knew better than to keep trying to talk Taemin out of his perfectionist fit. “Fine.” I was about to ask him to return the rose so I could just hold it, but he suddenly rose to his feet and stood like he was going to launch it over the railing onto the street below. 

“What are you doing?” I jumped up and tried to reach for the rose, but Taemin was too tall. “That’s mine, Taemin. I told you that I want it, so—”

“I bit the stem off like a moron,” Taemin quietly reminded. Looking back, I think he just couldn’t understand why I wanted it. “This rose is ruined. Let me throw it away, and I’ll get you a dozen others—”

My heart twitched. Afraid. 

“I told you a long time ago that I don’t want another one,” I whined, burdened by the growing lump in my throat as I understood that I would never be tall enough to save the rose. I kept trying anyway, grabbing Taemin’s shoulder and rising onto my tiptoes, trying anything to grow just a little taller for a fraction of a second. “I told you that first night in the hotel, don’t you remember? I told you that I never want you to replace my roses, and you promised that you would never try to. You promised.” 

Begging and fixated on the word 'promise,' I sounded like a child. Maybe that genuinely expressed desperation was what softened Taemin's features that wordlessly promised to return the rose. Knowing that the rose would ultimately be mine, I threw my head back, laughing, when Taemin jumped onto the tips of his toes, held the rose as high as he could over his head, and teased, "Hm? What do you want? Is it this?"

"Yes!" I participated in his game and, knowing that I could never pluck that rose from his hand just as I could never pluck the moon from the sky, I leaped anyway. Imagine my gasp of surprise, then when Taemin made a variation of my dream true by lowering his hand ever-so-slightly so I could reach it. 

When the rose was finally back in my hands where it belonged, I greeted it as if it were the moon with a kiss— gentle to prevent the loss of any precious petals. 

"Is that how you'll kiss me," Taemin wondered in a whisper that rode on the wind, "when the clock finally strikes midnight?" 

Closing the space between us, he held his face as close to mine as he could without touching my lips just to make me conscious of each passing second. I could have cursed Taemin for encouraging me to wish our time away in pursuit of that quickly approaching moment when our lips would meet for the first time.

"I don't know," I shrugged, meeting his eyes although they would set me on fire. "I guess we'll find out then, right?

Taemin slanted his head to the side. "Does that mean you haven't imagined it?"

"Of course it doesn't." My flat denial earned Taemin's gasping laughter. Still holding the rose in my hand, I connected my hands behind his neck and said, "I told you, everything has led to this moment. I've imagined kissing you— my soulmate— every time I've looked up at the moon."

Perhaps to conceal the blush spreading across his cheeks, Taemin hid his face in the crook of my neck and whispered in my ear, "Everything you say is so precious." He breathed. **Inhale. Exhale. Remember**. "I do remember, by the way. I remember what you said that night— and every other day and night— in the hotel. I remember what you said in the garden. I remember what you said by the lake. I remember everything you said at practices, even though you weren't ready to speak to me yet."

I didn't know what to say. I never knew what to say when he started on those emotional speeches. Maybe there was nothing to say. Maybe the only thing to do was listen and promise to remember. Closing my eyes, then, I set to memorizing every word. 

Ever undeterred by my silence, Taemin continued, almost singing despite Kai's warnings against serenades, "I have been clinging to your every word for as long as I can remember, and I think you should know that I will never forget a single thing."

"Taemin." His name fell from my mouth involuntarily, I guess, because it was what I wanted to say all my life.

He must not have heard or seen the fireworks bursting overhead. His grip around my waist tightened, but he didn't match his lips to mine. Remaining by my ear, he kept humming, "I remember every time you ever looked at me. I remember how you used to be so afraid that I would catch your glances. I remember that day on the SuperM set when you kept getting distracted by my laugh. I remember that morning when you tried to run away because I've spent every day happily because you came back and told me that you like me. I remember the first time I ever held you because I knew that I would never be able to let you go again."

I think I must have been crying at that point. I think I must have been crying before he admitted, "I remember every moment because I have known all along that I will love you forever." 

Although Taemin and I were at the very beginning of our forever, I felt with the next breath that sometimes beginnings and endings feel very much alike. Maybe I knew that I was at the end of the childhood of following Mom as she managed Super Junior; maybe I knew that I was at the end of the days when Lucas was my only true companion; maybe I knew that I was at the end of all that was familiar. Maybe that was sad because although there had always been scattered moments of loneliness— although those moments were almost nonexistent now that I loved Taemin— those days were all I had known. Those days were happy even if they weren't perfect. 

There is something terrifying about staring forever in the face, so I trembled when Taemin met my eyes and wiped the tears away. There was so much to look forward to with Taemin— so much I couldn't imagine yet— and I knew that even as I promised, "I remember too. I'll never forget anything either— I'll write it all down if I have to." As if saying so would help settle once and forever the fear that this, too, would end, I swore, "I'll write it all down if that's the only way to make our story last forever." 

Taemin, who always understood forever better than I did, smiled at my futile efforts to contain eternity, but he said nothing to discourage me. He only reached to plant his hands between the lights on the railing behind me. Were he anyone else, that gesture would have made me feel trapped, but the sudden slow, forceful poundings of my heart as time stopped with each motion he took toward me were not at all afraid. 

In those first few moments that there was no space between us, Taemin touched me only with his gentle, warm, cloud-soft lips that fit perfectly with mine. Those moments were unlike anything I had ever experienced— unlike anything I have experienced since— so I do not know the words to properly relate them to you. 

He didn't have to peel his hands from the railing to press them against the small of my back; I wouldn't have gone anywhere. There was no place I longed to be more than in his embrace— whether we were in the garden, in our hotel room, in my bedroom, under the moon, or under golden blossoming fireworks. 

Here, in this world where Taemin and I were in love— whether it was our secret or known to all— in this moment, is where I always belong. 

  



	14. A Fool

By the time Taemin’s lips parted from mine, the fireworks overhead had almost entirely ceased, and most cars had vacated the parking lot below. 

Breathless, I was almost hesitant to meet the glittering galaxies gathered in Taemin’s eyes, all too aware of the likelihood that I would spend the rest of the evening or the rest of my life aimlessly wandering through them. However, as you know by now, I could never resist the allure of Taemin’s other-worldly beauty. 

His eyes smiled at me as his hands moved to cup my cheeks. “Do you want to do it again?” His laughter dissolved all tension in the air. 

Before pecking at his grin, I hummed, “Maybe later!” 

Narrowly escaping Taemin’s effort to catch me in another thousand-year kiss, I grabbed my mask from its corner and frowned at the high heels that were entirely responsible for the dull ache in my ankle. 

“You don’t have to put them back on,” Taemin said, following my gaze. “I’ll carry you to my car and drive you home.” When I hesitated to climb onto his back because I had been too tall for piggyback rides for as long as I could remember, he pouted, begging, “Let me give you one drama-worthy moment, jagi. Please?”

There was no way to deny him whatever he wanted when he looked at me like that— like I alone held the key to his happiness in the palm of my hand. Setting aside my discomfort, abandoning my fear of heights (or, more accurately, my fear of falling from a height), I secured my hold around him. Releasing a deep breath, I laid my head on his shoulder. 

Quietly, as if he thought that I had fallen asleep in the span of just a few seconds and he didn’t wish to wake me, Taemin asked, “Are you sleepy?”

“No,” I whispered, although my blinking eyelids had gone heavy with fatigue in the aftermath of the party’s highs and lows. “You’re just really warm, so you’re a good cuddle buddy.”

The smile on his face was audible as he repeated, “Cuddle buddy?” I wish I had opened my eyes to admire his smile, to watch if it grew when I dropped a feather-light kiss on the crook of his neck. 

Delighted by the subtle shiver that ran down his spine at the sweet contact, I hoped that my voice carried my smile to him when he couldn’t quite see me. “What’s gonna happen to the blanket and the lights and—” I gasped. 

Taemin’s body stiffened. He glanced back at my widened eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“Your rose—” tears gathered in my eyes with the sudden sharp blow of winter wind— “I left it behind. I must have dropped it when you kissed me. I must have been too happy to hold on, and now—” 

As soon as he set me on my feet beside his car, Taemin kissed each of my cheeks. Before any tear could fall, he promised, “I’ll go get it.” He held his keys out to me. “I’ll be right back, okay? Please don’t cry. It’s our happy night.” 

I parrotted the phrase, “Our happy night.” A smile broke across my face while I cursed myself for my embarrassing attachment to symbols like the rose. But then, it was easy to forget embarrassment when Taemin smiled at me. 

Looking back, I think that he must have planned all along to return to our rooftop place to retrieve the blanket and the lights and his mask. In that moment, though, I was so giddy with the thought that Taemin had retraced our path just for the sake of the rose that I greeted his return with a broad grin that he hopefully appreciated in the two seconds before I caught his lips with mine. 

“You kissed me,” Taemin gasped as if it were the first time. Holding the rose out to me, he asked, “Will you do it again in exchange for a flower?” 

I don’t know what came over me. In all of my life, I had never been an excessively smiley, giggly sort of person, but my cheeks ached from smiling that night. My laughter seemed to have lost all meaning, but I kept laughing anyway. All I can say, I guess, is that Taemin’s kiss made me _**happy**_. Too happy. Happier than I had ever been. 

Had there been a rational thought in my head that wasn’t centered around the boy in the diver’s seat, the boy determined to lace his fingers through mine as he drove down busy streets, the boy I trusted to lead me to new heights at any corner of the universe, I might have called myself cringeworthy. 

At every point in my life, I had been prematurely fixated on the moment of goodbye. Maybe that was some sort of well-intentioned coping mechanism. I’m not sure. All I can tell you in hindsight is that I must have had no intention of parting ways with Taemin. Maybe in some corner of my mind— or in the entirety of my heart— I decided that the rest of the night would be spent in his company. 

When he parked in the driveway of my house, I realized from the sheer number of cars that there was no way I would catch an hour of sleep. More importantly, there was no way I would have been able to lead Taemin into my room undetected. Within seconds, I pieced together that Super Junior had occupied my home to a.) celebrate the new year, b.) celebrate their years of friendship with Mom, and c.) to celebrate the union of Momhae. 

When I relayed that information to Taemin, explaining what it meant for our sleeping arrangements, he suggested, “We can sleep together in my room at the SuperM house.”

From his smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes coupled with the dropping of his jaw when I eagerly nodded my head, I figured that Taemin hadn’t been entirely serious. No, Taemin was always serious about falling asleep together. He must have expected me to place some boundary against falling asleep together in his bed. 

Sinking at the thought that I hadn’t explained how much I loved sleeping at his side, I dropped the rose onto my lap so I could trace stars on his knuckles. “I’m sorry if this sounds too clingy or dependent, Taemin, but I— I want to spend every night with you. Even when we go back to living separate daily lives after the tour is over, I want to spend the nights with you. That time when I get to remove my mask and lay my head on your chest and just exist—”

Taemin squeezed my hand and raised it to meet his kiss. I had to smile at that sweet gesture as my heart swelled and overflowed with affection. The fond wrinkles that formed around his eyes encouraged me to continue to confess, “That time holds me together. I— to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would do if that time were to end.” 

Taemin said, “It won’t,” so assuredly that the lump growing in my throat dissolved. Shallow lines etched into his forehead as he asked, “Why did you tell me all of those beautiful things, jagi?”

I shrugged, startled by my total lack of embarrassment as I met his twinkling eyes. “I just thought that it would be kind of tragic if you never knew what time with you means to me. Earlier, you asked me to tell you what I feel, and I— I’m going to try, but you should know that I feel a lot, and— if you could, I would like for you to kiss me when I ramble, please—”

Immediately, Taemin took the hint. He kissed me like he planned to feel my lips without the invitation.

. . . 

“I like it when you’re like this,” Taemin said on our way up the stairs to his bedroom. 

From my place on his back, I bit back my giggles for fear of waking the SuperM members who, judging by the almost eerie silence and empty driveway, weren’t even there. “Like what, Taem?” I kissed his temple, careful not to drop the champagne bottle he looted from the party onto the hardwood floor. “All over you?” 

“Well, yeah.” He smirked as he kicked open the door to his pure white room. From first glance, it seemed to be a place beyond earth. “But I actually meant that I like it when you’re honest with me. I love it when you trust me with everything locked away in here.” His index finger tapped on an inch of skin exposed beneath my bangs when he set me down on the small sofa by the window.

The cushions were as light and fluffy as clouds. Maybe with Taemin, every day, in one way or another, I enacted my dream of being something that belongs in the sky. 

“You’ve always been easy to trust,” I told him as he filled the space next to me. “I just— it’s hard to unlearn the habit of holding back. Just know that I’m going to trust you with everything in time.” 

Taemin took the bottle of champagne, beaming. “I know. Thank you for trying for me.” 

I rose onto my knees, sinking ever-so-slightly into the clouds, to peel back the silky curtains and raise the blinds. Shining brilliantly over our garden amid a shower of golden fireworks, the moon stared back at me and stole my breath away.

“You can see our garden well from here,” I observed as I sat back, careful not to disturb my aching ankle. “If I had a view like this from my room, then I probably never would have snuck out of my house.” 

Taemin said, “Flowers aren’t meant to be admired through a window.” 

And when I glanced over at him, I found that he was watching the moon just as intently as I always had. A part of me wanted to ask if he also dreamed of a day when he could reach out and feel the moon’s kiss on his fingertips. The answer was obvious the next time he looked into my eyes, though, so the question died on the tip of my tongue. 

“I like it when you’re like this,” I said, unable to lift my voice above a whisper.

“Like what, Lei?” After setting the champagne bottle on the floor with a gentle **_thud_** , Taemin leaned across the couch to lay his head on my chest, flush against my heartbeat. Hooking his hands around my waist, he fanned his breath over my collar bone. “All over you?”

My heart raced for him, but it didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t embarrassed knowing that he could feel it too. 

“Well, yeah.” I smiled as I carded my fingers through his hair. “But I actually meant that I like it when you talk like a poet. I love it when you trust me with everything in here.” My index finger traced his heart over his collared shirt. 

Taemin wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pressed my palm flat against his chest so I could feel it— the ever so subtle quickening of his pulse as he lifted his head to breathe against my parted lips. 

I guess the night couldn’t have remained an almost perfect dream come true because I didn’t live in a fairytale. Sometime later, Taemin pressed his back against the arm of the couch opposite me. After taking a small taste of champagne, he asked, “Do you want to play truth or dare like we did the last time we drank together?” 

Because I am a fool for anything with sentimental value, I nodded my head so passionately that Baekhyun’s flower crown fell off of my head. It landed on the space between Taemin and me. Before I could return the crown to its place atop my head, he swiped it and laid over his hair. Although the flowers weren’t his, they looked prettier on him. They transformed him into a vision of an angel. 

Knowing the answer, Taemin asked, “Am I pretty?” while tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and winking as I tasted champagne. 

I giggled at the bubbling sensation on my tongue. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Taemin.” He rejoiced at the compliment, and I asked, “Who gets to go first in this little game?”

He decided with the question, “Truth or dare, jagi?” 

Obeying Taemin’s gesture to take another sip of the drink, I decided to be bold. “Dare.” 

Taemin hummed as he caught his pretty pink bottom lip between his teeth. I do not doubt that he was deliberately employing the very on-stage tactics that elicit screams from full stadiums around the world. Tugging his phone out of his pocket and flashing the timer on its screen, he dared, “Kiss me for a whole minute.” 

Although I was no longer a stranger to kissing Taemin, my cheeks burned at his instruction. “A minute?” I frowned. I can’t tell you if I was disappointed because a minute was closer to never or forever. 

“A minute!” Taemin smiled before puckering his lips. 

I trembled with anxiety during that first dared kiss, I think, because I was too aware of the passage of time. I wasted that first dared kiss by holding my breath, whittling away the seconds until the alarm permitted me to crawl back to my side of the couch. 

If Taemin was disappointed by the minute he wasted with his lips pressed to mine in the most lackluster kiss of all time— if he was disappointed that I was still as shy in the field of physical affection as I was in verbal affection— I couldn’t tell. His lips curled into a smile that I could see through the champagne bottle. 

In my embarrassment, I nearly forgot to ask, “Truth or dare, Taeminnie?” 

He squealed as he almost always did when I called him by anything resembling a nickname. “Truth.” His voice was a gentle hum. 

My eyes broke from his just long enough to glance out at our garden before returning to the pleasure of staring at him until every detail of his perfect face was a permanent memory that I could sketch out on paper given a chance. I asked, “What were you doing out there by the rose bush that night before I sat with you?”

“Waiting for you,” he answered without a moment of hesitation, without a moment of surrendering to shame. “I noticed you out there once or twice when I should have been sleeping. I knew that you were lonely because you didn’t know that we were looking up at the same moon at the same time.” While I traced the ribbon around his wrist, he said, “It was my dream to show you— to make you feel that you’re not alone.”

Even if I achieved my goal of learning every language in the world, would I have ever learned the words with which to respond to something so beautiful? I don’t think so. I believe there are some moments when the only response can be silence. 

I almost wanted to ask how he knew that I would be out there on that particular night. I almost wanted to know how the flower he held had broken. I came close to asking if he held it together in his warm, soft hands long after it was unsalvageable because he hoped as much as I did that the universe had gifted him with the supernatural ability to mend gaping wounds with his touch. 

I bit my tongue, though, because the concept of fate enchanted me as a mysterious force that should not have to suffer through questioning. It was romantic enough to hear from Taemin’s mouth that we were brought together by the moon that I turned the page on those questions without regret. 

Taking my next drink of champagne, I again chose dare, hoping for another chance to kiss my Taemin’s lips after he made my heart flutter with his talk about the moon. 

Perhaps reading my mind or maybe wanting to feel my breath as much as I needed to feel his to thank the universe for the gift of the time together, Taemin said, “Kiss me for two minutes, please.” 

That time, when Taemin started his timer, I hoped that by some miracle or happy accident, the alarm would never send me back to my appropriate side of the couch. I wanted to melt into him, to lose myself in him. It didn’t matter if I should ever distinguish myself from him again. Here— with him— is where I am happiest. 

That time, when Taemin whispered, “My Lei,” against my skin, I didn’t cringe at the thought that I— all of me, every thought locked away in my mind, every fear hidden in the darkest corners of my heart— belonged to him. 

Maybe that’s not the best way to phrase it. Maybe I mean to say that I didn’t cringe at the thought that all of me, even the parts that I considered fruitless or dangerous or flawed, belonged _**with**_ Taemin. I don’t know. 

Setting aside the semantics that certainly didn’t matter to me at the time, my heart stirred at Taemin’s whisper. I took both of his hands in mine and laced our fingers together as if that would forever tether me to the moment. 

Time ran out as it always does and always will. After Taemin silenced the alarm, I stalled in peeling myself away from him. As cliche as this sounds, I swear that it’s true: it was almost painful to be separated. 

Taemin noticed, or maybe he felt a pull toward me too. Swallowing champagne, he chose dare. He probably expected me to dare him to kiss me for as long as he wanted because I was tired of the alarm jolting us apart. 

I don’t know how to describe my excitement when he leaned forward onto his knees and laid beside me on my side of the couch. It was a burning sensation that crawled up from the tips of my toes, pooled in my stomach, spread from my chest to the fingertips that reached out to trace his smile, and heated every inch of my face.

I don’t know how long we kissed that time, but I know that there was no coherent thought in my head by the time Taemin left me with tingling swollen lips. Maybe he deprived me of too much oxygen. Maybe the alcohol caught up with me all at once as my pulse quickened with each of his lingering touches. 

Taemin swears that I was drunk on New Year’s Eve, but I can’t tell you for certain because I never felt like that— hot, honest, uninhibited, stuck in slow-motion— since that one night spent in his room. Because these memories embarrass me still, I have sworn off alcohol just to safely avoid circumstances that yield reckless choices. 

Almost laughing at my dazed open-mouth expression, Taemin wondered aloud, “What are you thinking about?” while running his thumb over my crescent moon earring that matched his. 

If he expected me to say anything profound, he must have been disappointed when I asked through bubbling giggles, “Do you think it’s physically possible for me to drown in your kiss?”

No disappointment was visible on his laughing face. If he wasn’t affected by the alcohol, I don’t know what his excuse was for muttering, “Let’s find out,” before fitting his lips with mine for the millionth time. 

I am bashful about relating these acts of affection to you. I am not in any way ashamed about having kissed Taemin. It’s just— you know that I don’t regularly engage in this sort of behavior. I never really considered that I would ever breathe in sync or move in sync with anybody before Taemin found me in that hour of loneliness in the garden. 

It didn’t come to me naturally at first— succumbing to that eternal pull toward him, the one who set me alight with his tender touch— but once the habit developed, I would never break it. Maybe I couldn’t even if I wake up one day and decide to try. 

Anyway, there is something inherently nerve-rattling about carrying what happens in the dark in the company of the stars into daylight. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by telling you everything that happened after the rising of the moon, but I— I guess I want nothing more than to share my happiness with you. I guess I want you to know that happiness is him: Taemin, my star. 

After all the nights of narrowly missing Taemin’s lips, I suppose that the damn burst all at once with the bursting of fireworks. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand him, but I don’t have to understand Taemin to know that I am in love with him. That’s why I’m trying to stop seeing the world in the logical way I have tried to add and subtract everything else in my life. I accept that some things— some emotions— some people are not meant to be put into words. 

It’s beautiful that Taemin is one such person. 

Undoubtedly drowning in Taemin’s scent of roses, I broke from the kiss to ask, grinning from ear to ear like an absolute fool, “Do you think I could get drunk from this kiss?” 

And— I squirm at this memory— he said, “I think I already am.” 

The very words that almost make me cringe in hindsight washed over me like a stories-high wave that swept me to the shore where Taemin’s lips molded with mine again, still not tired, still not bored, still so sweet and gentle but not at all timid. He convinced me that I was made for this— I was made for him— and I think I still believe that now that I am sober and the sun has risen and, for a blink in the universe, he is not reading over my shoulder. 

I ruined what very well could have been a perfect knee-weakening memory by sitting up to suggest, “Let’s play strip poker!”

Taemin laughed out loud. He gripped his sides because they were splitting until he realized that I wasn’t joking. Likely rattled by my serious expression that contradicted the last several minutes spent giggling between kisses, he gasped. “Are you being serious?” 

I must have been intoxicated. Had I been sober, that suggestion would have been a joke or, at the very least, I would have had the wit to pass off a genuine (humiliating) desire as an absent-minded attempt at flirting. Instead, I nodded, reaching out to card my fingers through his hair. “I’m always serious, sweet Taemin.” 

“Sweet Taemin?” The broad smile that brightened his face now brightens my memories. Forcing his lips into an exaggerated pout, he said, “I don’t have cards, jagi, so we can’t play strip poker. I’m sorry.” 

“Darn.” I frowned, brow furrowing as I traced my fingers over Taemin’s lips that pervaded my every blurry thought. “Oh well. I don’t know how to play poker anyway.” And then, when I should have dropped the subject before any harm was done, I asked, “Can we play strip rock-paper-scissors instead, Taeminnie?” 

Taemin snorted. “Well,” he spoke in a soft hum that almost definitely meant no. 

Being more shameless in that moment than I had been in my entire life, I felt my eyes widen pleadingly. “Please, sweet Taeminnie?” My bottom lip poked out from my frown, and my hands pressed together as if to pray. 

He sighed, “Well, alright,” and then winked as if he planned to give me my way all along. 

I squealed and clapped my hands as I sat upright on my arm of the couch. After I gulped another unneeded mouthful of champagne, Taemin took the bottle and set it behind his side of the couch so I couldn’t reach it without straining. 

I wasn’t disappointed for long. Holding his fist out, Taemin wiggled his eyebrows. “Ready, jagi?” 

Giggling, I nodded my head until I was dizzy and the game commenced. 

It was fun at first because Taemin lost the first two rounds. I think he liked that I rolled my eyes and shouted, “Booooooooriiiiiing,” when he started by removing his black socks. Then, he laughed as air passed through my rounded lips— a poor imitation of a whistle— when he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. 

Lowering back onto the couch, Taemin was careful to sit straight so that I could see each of his muscles. “Like what you see?” He smirked as if the answer wasn’t evident from my unadulterated stare and agape mouth. Like it tickled, he laughed when I reached to poke one of the muscles protruding in his abdomen because (even then) I needed proof that he wasn’t just a dream. 

My winning streak didn’t last long. I was all too easy to beat, too compromised by alcohol and the mind-numbing sight of my boyfriend to even notice that I lost until he giggled. 

After I shrugged out of Taemin’s jacket, dropping and forgetting it on the floor, I lost again. Without shoes or socks to shed, I stood and almost gnawed through my cheek as I reached for the cold zipper at the base of my neck. For the better part of five minutes, Taemin just watched me struggle with the zipper. 

Maybe he thought I was stalling to remain clothed for as long as possible, but the truth— that’s too embarrassing to admit. Suffice it to say that, having suggested the game in the first place, I was not stalling.

When the sparkling midnight blue fabric fell at my bare feet, we both screamed. 

Standing before him in only a nude bra and a pair of skin-toned Spanx, too stunned by my own action to look away from his widened eyes, I stuttered, “I— I can’t do this. Or can I?” Glancing down at myself, blushing just slightly, I realized, “I guess I already did, so—”

“No,” Taemin said as he stood. Although his eyes were closed, he walked to me without stumbling and draped his discarded shirt over my shoulders. Once I fit my arms through the silky sleeves that hung past my fingertips, Taemin opened his eyes to button the shirt most of the way up. He avoided my bewildered gaze, saying, “I’m sorry. I was just playing around. I didn’t think that you would actually do that. I’m so sorry, Lei.” 

Because I couldn’t understand why he was apologizing when we had only played the game by its rules, I asked, “What’s wrong? Did I mess something up again?” 

I must have cried. I can still feel Taemin’s thumbs brushing my cheeks just under my eyes. I hate that. I hate that I lost all inhibitions. I hate that I cried in front of Taemin just because his solemn expression terrified me to the core. I hate that I had no choice in whether or how to express the emotions I would have preferred to hide.

“No,” he whispered before enveloping me in a hug that was probably supposed to prove that nothing was wrong. He pulled my bangs out of my face and brushed his lips across my forehead. “You didn’t mess anything up. It just— if we keep going, I think you’ll regret it in the morning. I never want you to regret anything you do with me.” 

“I wouldn’t regret it.” Suddenly too flustered, too ashamed to meet his eyes, I looped my arms around his waist and leaned forward to put my ear to his heartbeat. What once had been slow, confident, unaffected by my proximity was now rapid, anxious, all because of me. 

“Please,” Taemin begged, “don’t say things like that when I’m trying to do the right thing.” 

Before I could continue to childishly argue that there was no reason to pace ourselves or resist each other if we wanted the same things, Taemin tightened his grip around my waist and pulled me flush against his warm body. He held me there in the silence for what felt like eternities before swinging me, as if I was as light as a feather, toward his bed. 

He sang, “Let’s go to sleep,” and smiled his smile that grew more familiar with each passing second. A beauty of my memories and my present confined no longer to photographs and my wildest dreams. 

He pulled back the plush white blanket to expose white sheets, and he tugged me along toward the head of the bed, where he collapsed against soft cloud pillows. 

“But I don’t wanna go to bed,” I whined, refusing to lay with him. “I’m not tired!”

Taemin laughed when I reached for the champagne bottle. His hand wrapped around my waist, tickling me through his shirt, and pulled me to the center of the bed so that my back pressed against his side. “Let’s cuddle, then. Come here and talk to me.” 

I mumbled, “That’s my favorite thing to do,” and rolled onto my side so I could see him. 

As I started to trace my name onto his chest with my index finger, Taemin chuckled. “What’s your favorite thing? Cuddling or talking to me?”

“Both,” I answered without hesitation. My eyes flickered up to his face. He was so beautiful that I had to tell him. “Do you know why?” 

“No.” Taemin shook his head, which he propped on the arm resting atop his pillow. “Why, jagi?”

“You’re my favorite person,” I told him plainly, “because you’re beautiful.” 

“I’m beautiful?” Taemin gasped like he never before received the compliment. 

“Didn’t you know?” I removed my hand from his chest to cup his cheek, which bulged under the weight of his sparkling toothy grin. “You’re so pretty, Taemin. You’re the prettiest person in the whole world. You’re prettier than the sun and the moon and all of the stars. You’re brighter than all of them, too, and I love you more than them and—” 

True to his earlier promise to silence me with a kiss whenever I ramble, Taemin used both hands to pull me atop him and, resting one hand at the nape of my neck, he brought my lips to his.

“This is my other favorite thing to do,” I confessed, looking down at him with a smile I hope rivaled the radiance of the sun. “I never want to stop kissing you.” 

Taemin breathed, “Then don’t,” so sweetly that I kissed him over and over again until the sun rose or my eyes fluttered closed in a deep sleep— whichever came first. 

My stomach didn’t knot at any of the night’s events until the morning sun broke through the window, unobstructed by blinds or curtains, and pried my eyes open with a dull headache. When my bare legs brushed against the fabric of Taemin’s dress pants, I flinched away from him, sat upright, and choked on a gasp.

I glanced at his sleeping form, barely getting to admire the half of his face that wasn’t buried in the cloud white pillow before my eyes zeroed in on the fact that his back— his entire upper body— was bare. 

He was shirtless and right next to me. I was pants-less (except for my shapewear) and right next to him. 

And in those few seconds before the previous night’s events came back to crush me under the weight of utter humiliation, I think my instinct was to run before Taemin could notice. I hate admitting that after I swore in champagne-induced honesty that I would regret nothing. 

A confession: I was not trying to run away from regret. I was trying to run from a terrifyingly unfamiliar sense of desire that I— well, just use your imagination or something. 

I swept Taemin’s jacket off of the floor and pulled my phone out of the pocket, only to be greeted with a wall of missed calls from Lucas. Because it wasn’t even nine o’clock and we had no set schedule, to say that I was worried that Lucas was awake— let alone blowing my phone up— was an understatement. 

I wasted no time in calling him back on my tiptoed sprint into Taemin’s bathroom. 

Lucas answered as I set to removing last night’s smudged eyeliner with a cloth I found in a cabinet. “Where are you?” he asked in place of ‘hello.’ 

While I had been cognizant enough pre-champagne to text Mom that I was crashing at the SuperM house— careful to exclude the part about sleeping in Taemin’s bed— I hadn’t thought to check in with Lucas. 

“The SuperM house,” I replied, sinking at the thought that he might have been worried about me. “Specifically, I’m hiding in my—” I was going to say ‘my boyfriend,’ but my mouth couldn’t quite form the word— “Taemin’s bathroom.” 

“Your Taemin’s bathroom?” From the wave-like inflection in Lucas’s voice, I could envision his wiggling eyebrows. I imagined that his bright, teasing smile faded into a frown before he asked, “Wait, hiding? What are you hiding from?”

I was hiding from the fact that I had woken up half-naked in bed with a half-naked Taemin. I was hiding from the truth that had he not drawn a line in the sand, had he not been the first to close the door, I would have given him everything. All it took was a little bit of champagne for me to lose all sense of dignity, and I— why couldn’t I regret anything? 

There was no way in hell I was going to say any of that to Lucas, though. Instead, I said, “I don’t want to wake Taemin while talking to you.” I was picking among truths. 

Lucas’s silence carried his belief that I was hiding something, but I clung to my secrets. “Why did you call me a million times?” 

“Oh yeah. That.” Lucas chuckled. “Heechul and Donghae—” 

At their names, the two men felt compelled to bicker within Lucas’s earshot. 

Lucas sighed, “Well, you’ll just have to come home to get a clear read on this situation.”

Eager for an excuse to race home before Taemin could see my scarlet cheeks and tempt me into lovesick decisions, I asked, “Do you need me to come home now?”

Lucas’s response was delayed. He probably knew that I was trying to run, so he took his time in carefully structuring his response. “I think Heechul and Donghae will still be here long after you spend time with Taemin.” 

As if stirred awake by the most recent utterance of his name, Taemin knocked on the door. “Lei, jagi, are you in here?” His voice was raspy with fatigue. 

“I’ll see you when you get home,” Lucas said before hanging up, leaving me to confront the tension that set butterflies ablaze in my gut. 

Setting my phone down on the counter, I told Taemin, “It’s unlocked.” 

When he walked through the doorway, I couldn’t look at him for long. He was still shirtless and much prettier now that he was awake and smiling at me. I couldn’t breathe. 

While my gaze averted toward the white marble counter, he filled the space behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed a soft kiss to my temple. He stood so close that the warmth of his bare skin radiated through the back of my (his) shirt. 

“I thought you left,” he whispered, tightening his embrace, “before I could tell you again that I love you.” 

The intimacy of this entire scene— being this close to Taemin after sleeping in his bed, wearing only his shirt over my undergarments, having spent and continuing to spend time in this place that was neither a hotel nor my bedroom but _**his**_ space— burned me alive. 

I said, “I love you too,” because I did even when I trembled like a leaf tempted to flutter away from the life-giving branch. 

Taemin must have sensed my anxiety. His touch softened as his hand reached my chin, urging me to meet our reflection. “Look at us,” he breathed, and my eyes opened. 

Our faces were swollen from sleep, and Taemin’s eyes were smudged by faint traces of makeup that he hadn’t wiped away the night before— the first night that he hadn’t prioritized his skincare routine— and my eyes were wide with some emotion that I can only describe as fear— but Taemin said, “We’re beautiful.” 

Then, I saw the gentle, angelic smile that curved his lips— the lips I kissed a million times to claim as mine— and I saw the spark in his eyes, and I felt the way his chest rose and fell against my back. I saw that the blush burning my face was a pretty rosy pink that matched the color spread across every visible inch of his skin down to the fingertips, and I saw that the same spark in his eyes was alight in mine, and I felt that trembling at Taemin’s presence was okay. Trembling in Taemin’s embrace was the appropriate, proper, natural response. 

He was right: we are beautiful. 

“I’m happy,” I told him in case it wasn’t apparent from my sigh as I melted into him. “You should be the first person I see every morning.” 

Taemin smiled before releasing me and walking to his cabinet. He returned to my side, offered me a toothbrush, and winked before brushing his teeth. “I usually am these days, aren’t I?” 

His wink made my stomach do somersaults. 

Tingling as I fit the toothbrush into my mouth, I shrugged. I thought long and hard before spitting into the sink and filling the morning air with the declaration, “I’m talking about forever, Taemin.” 

Taemin blinked at me so many times that I thought the suds from his facewash had fallen into his eyes through his thick lashes. When he continued blinking after his face was rinsed and dried, I clarified, bold in my convictions despite his silence, “You should be the first person I see for the rest of forever. Or at least that’s what I think. At least that’s what I want.” 

“I—” Taemin wheezed.

That’s when I started to panic: when Taemin fell into uncharacteristic silence. Leaning against the cold counter, I closed my eyes, rubbed my temples, and replayed all of our conversations. I knew that I hadn’t been the first to mention forever. Taemin was. Just last night at the party, just before he kissed me, he said that he would love me forever. 

Had that been a sweet nothing with which to fill the silence? I knew that a lot of people say forever without meaning it, but I— I never have. I thought Taemin was like me: someone who feels the weight of forever. I didn’t think that he would say something like that just to say it, just to hear it said back, just to make me fall in love with a fairytale illusion. 

I think I know enough of broken hearts to tell you that mine was shattered before Taemin wrapped his arms around me. His touch filled every void, healed every wound, and I knew how happy that rose was to have been held by him that night in our garden. 

“You made me so happy just then,” he whispered in my ear, “that I forgot how to speak.” 

Just like that, he mended and melted my heart. Just like that, he opened my eyes to his sincere smile, and I had to tell him, “You hold all of my heart in the palm of your hand, Taemin.” 

He told me, still in a whisper pressed to my ear, “You hold all of mine too, Lei. Forever.” 

Staring forever in the face didn’t seem so scary anymore. 

Before I could even try to comb through the bird’s nest on my head, Taemin tightened his grip around my waist and lifted me off of the cold tiled floor, not quite high enough to trigger my fear of falling. 

“Come on, jagi.” Once we stood in his bedroom, he motioned for me to climb onto his back. “ Let's make breakfast downstairs!”

Knowing well that— combined— Taemin and I had a total of about fifteen minutes’ worth of experience in the kitchen, I decided that it would be fun to visit unexplored territory with him. It would be like playing house, a game that hadn’t interested me since early childhood years in Grandma’s kitchen in Atlanta. 

My ankle healed almost entirely overnight, so I didn’t need Taemin to carry me. I think I never needed him to carry me in the first place, but maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I liked having romantic k-drama moments with him when nobody could see and laugh and point out that I looked out of place in such a scene. 

Because Taemin giggled loudly every time I dropped a kiss on his cheek, neck, or shoulders while descending the stairs, I didn’t hear any signs that Ten stood in the kitchen. Given that I was a guest in the SuperM house, I guess I should have been prepared to see another member at some point, but I would never have expected to see an outsider— a girl!

Before I hid my burning face in the crook of Taemin’s neck, I watched the girl trail her fingers down Ten’s arms, bare under his ruffled pink apron. I watched her long black hair fall over his shoulders as she tried to distract him from the sizzling stovetop with open-mouth kisses pressed to Ten’s jawline. All at once, I realized that both of them were almost completely naked. 

All I could think was that the girl, even though I couldn’t see her face, was stunning in the way that she carried herself without any degree of shame. 

Why couldn’t I be like that? Is shamelessness an inherent trait, or can one learn it and call it confidence? 

I stifled my surprised gasp against the skin of Taemin’s shoulder, but Ten must have heard anyway. He somehow must have turned his eyes away from the girl long enough to find me clinging to Taemin at the foot of the stairs. 

He said, “Hey, Lei!” in a bright tone that didn’t imply the embarrassment that would have seized me should anyone catch me in an intimate act with Taemin. “Have fun ringing in the new year?” 

Although I couldn’t bring myself to meet Ten’s teasing gaze, I _**knew**_ that he believed that a scene similar to the one playing out in the kitchen had played out in Taemin’s bedroom. Too embarrassed to speak even to try to correct him, I kept my eyes fixed on Taemin’s back as I straightened my legs, relieved by his willingness to let me go. 

I hoped that Taemin was the only person who watched my dash through the front door, clad in only his shirt that— thankfully— reached my mid-thigh. 

“Goodbye,” Taemin called after me through laughter. I was glad that he wasn’t offended that I left without breakfast. “I’ll call you later!”

To my further humiliation, Ten laughed too. 

. . . 

Had I been thinking clearly, I would have entered the house through my bedroom window instead of running around to the front door, shivering in the cold. It’s a miracle that I was greeted only by Lucas, who was too busy scribbling on a piece of paper on the coffee table to notice me until I closed the door with a soft click. It’s a miracle that Mom, Donghae, and Heechul were too involved in their discussion in the kitchen to notice that I stood in the living room, cheeks painted red by the winter wind and the vulnerability of existing only in Taemin’s shirt. 

Rubbing at my temples, where a headache formed at Heechul’s sudden increase in volume, I groaned, “And here I thought we were finally at the happy ending.” 

Lucas’s brow furrowed. He chewed on his chapped bottom lip as if he hadn’t heard me. 

My frown was instinctual, a natural response to the absence of my best friend’s smile that accompanied every hello and brightened every day. “Are you okay?” My voice was gentle as I tiptoed to sit by his side. Reaching for the paper, the focus of his glare, I asked, “What are you drawing?” 

No matter how intently I stared at the list of names and lines and hearts penned in rainbows of crayon colors, I couldn’t make out any picture until Lucas replied, voice raspy from a lack of sleep— maybe he tried and failed to fall asleep during the Super Junior New Years Afterparty— “Our family tree.” 

At the top of the page was Mom written in pink, sandwiched between orange Donghae and red Heechul. Lines connected my name, a pretty shade of blue that reminded me of a daytime sky, and Lucas’s, a deep purple, to Mom’s to mark us as her children. Then, a line accented with hearts linked my name to Taemin’s, and almost illegible yellow, to define us as soulmates. 

Below my name and Taemin’s was an unfamiliar title: “Lucas Tue,” written in green. 

Cocking my head, I pointed to that foreign name. “Who’s that?”

The relief that overwhelmed me when Lucas broke his concentrated scowl to grin from ear to ear was shortlived. I choked on my breath when he explained, “That’s yours and Taemin’s baby! See how I wrote his name in green? That’s because he’s the perfect blend of you— blue— and Taemin— yellow!”

It was kind of cute that Lucas spent just as much time as I did (if not more) imagining a future with Taemin. 

Rather than reminding Lucas that there was no baby or insisting him that there wouldn’t be one for quite some time, I asked, “Is this supposed to be an alternate spelling of, like, Lucas 2? As in, you expect me and Taemin to name our child after you?” 

Lucas nodded eagerly. “I think it’s pretty clever. To make it less confusing, I propose we call the little ray of sunshine ‘Tue.’”

I blinked at Lucas, nearly on the verge of laughter. “If it’s really important to you, I’ll talk this over with Taemin, but my vote on this name suggestion is a resounding no.” 

The wide-eyed offended expression that dashed across Lucas’s face easily gave way to a goofy grin as he swung his arm over my shoulder and ruffled a hand through my knotted hair. He laughed in my ear. “Aw! You want a baby with Taemin!” He cheered so loudly that Mom, Donghae, and Heechul should have heard. 

I guess they didn’t, thank God, because none of them came barreling out of the kitchen. 

“Cut it out!” I blushed as I wiggled out of Lucas’s embrace, inciting more teasing laughter. I flipped over the family tree so it couldn’t fluster me further. “Why are you drawing family trees anyway?”

“I’m trying to make sense of the world around me.” Lucas shrugged, staring blankly at the SpongeBob episode playing on the television. “Donghae is Mom’s boyfriend, but Heechul is the one who’s almost always here for dinner and dramas. Now that they’re both competing for roles in Mom’s life, I’m wondering which one is our dad.” 

I gawked at Lucas. I was amazed by his genuine sense of confusion. 

“Neither is our dad,” I said, thinking that should have been obvious. Instead of reminding Lucas that Mom was _**my**_ Mom like I probably did at the dawn of our friendship, I told him, “Family units don’t need strict clear cut roles, you know. All that matters is that we’re happiest when we’re together. Donghae and Heechul should realize that they don’t have to compete for a place in Mom’s life and ours by extension.” 

Lucas folded our family tree into a paper airplane as he considered my perspective. Pursing his lips, he conceded, “You’re probably right.” 

I tugged my knees toward my chest. Crossing my arms and laying my head against the bend of my elbow, I breathed in the scent of roses on Taemin’s shirt. My shirt. The shirt I would keep (probably) forever. 

“I’m almost always right,” I boasted, sending Lucas an uncharacteristic wink. I don’t know what was wrong with me. Happiness makes me weird. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Lucas rolled his eyes even as he grinned. His eyebrows pinched together as he gathered the fabric of my sleeve between his fingers. “Hey, where’d you get this shirt?”

The resurfacing memories — the memories that I admit never once sunk below the surface, if I’m entirely honest— of Taemin from that morning and last night and every night passed that he had stolen my heart piece by piece struck me speechless. I couldn’t explain that the shirt once belonged to him while my heart swelled in my chest, knotting my throat and stomach and everything in its path. 

While I struggled to breathe, Lucas’s eyes trailed down to my legs. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and I almost wanted to laugh at his expression, but I was suddenly far too embarrassed to do anything but hide my face in my cloud-soft sleeve. 

“Lei!” Lucas shrieked in a whisper because he didn’t want to attract attention from our parental figures. “What happened to your pants?” 

All I said was, “Shut up, Lucas,” too mortified to meet his gaze. 

Rather than staying to endure his interrogation, which I knew even in the darkest depths of embarrassment was genuine well-intentioned curiosity, I stood, pulled the bottom hem of Taemin’s shirt as far down my thighs as it would go, and ran upstairs to my bedroom. Somehow, I went undetected by Mom, Donghae, and Heechul. 

Believe me: I appreciated that freedom while it lasted. 

  


  


  


  


  


Until I was alone behind the closed door, stepping into white pajama pants that were a little too big because they once belonged to Lucas, it didn’t occur to me that my silence might have been damaging to my reputation. Yes, I thought of my reputation even with Lucas. No, I really hadn’t changed from the paranoid principled person I had been at the start of this tale. I’m sorry. 

My silence implied that there was a scandalous reason why my dress laid on Taemin’s floor. Whatever scene Lucas imagined when I ran up the stairs was probably similar to whatever Ten imagined when he found me at the foot of the stars. 

I can’t tell you why I squirmed at that thought. I should have been comforted by the reality that a.) nothing _**that**_ scandalous happened beyond eternal kisses and an embarrassing game of rock-paper-scissors and b.) I wouldn’t have taken it back for anybody if something _**that**_ scandalous **_had_** happened beyond eternal kisses and an embarrassing game of rock-paper-scissors. 

But I wasn’t comforted. My stomach coiled with the realization that people thought I threw away every rule and reservation for Taemin. 

It was true. With ease, Taemin walked through every door, even the ones I swore I locked. He made me want to fall face-first into the sky, but you probably couldn’t tell from my forced grip around the safety rail, ever submissive to the fear of falling alone, still scared that he couldn’t catch me even if he fulfilled his promise to try. 

No longer consumed by the tension between Mom and Donghae because I could hear their laughter interrupting Heechul’s rant about who-knows-what, no longer distracted by the demands of the tour, my only thought was Taemin. And it wasn’t because we finally shared our first million kisses or because he was unashamed to lay shirtless by my side or because he set me on fire with his touch. 

Taemin pervaded every idle daydream because of those moments when he made me feel safe. Maybe all I ever wanted was security, and I found it in his steady heartbeat. Maybe I found it in the way his shirt hugged me and made my skin smell like roses. Maybe I could never let go. 

Maybe I hated that Ten could pervert pure love with his playful smirk. Maybe I never bothered to correct him by explaining that bond formed in the garden— which exceded the limits of all words anyway— for fear of misunderstanding or seeming as vulnerable as I had always been behind my mask. 

Maybe I was shy, and maybe I always would be, but there was— is— there is a part of me that wants to shout from every rooftop that I will be forever in love with Taemin because every moment is like that first in the garden. A part of me wants to tell everyone that everything else, every hand held and kiss shared and love-stained word whispered in the dark has been an act of gratitude because he saw me. 

Taemin saw me. Taemin loved me. 

And sometimes, I realize that I still don’t know how to thank him or God or fate or the universe or whoever I’m supposed to thank for miracles. 

I was contemplating this, my blooming garden of miracles, when Taemin’s voice filled my quiet room. “I have something for you, jagi.” 

My scream would have brought Heechul and Donghae racing up the stairs (likely bickering about who gets to obliterate the demon serial burglar who dared to burst through my window in broad daylight) had Taemin not silenced it with a long kiss as he climbed onto my bed, where I had been laying with my eyes closed. 

“Here you go.” He dropped a rose— the fragmented one from the party, which I must have forgotten somewhere again— onto my pillow. It landed by the crook of my neck and tickled my skin with its petals. 

“Thank you,” I smiled. 

Before Taemin could secure me in the embrace I never wanted to wake from, I walked over to my vanity. Catching my cheerful blush in the mirror, only briefly meeting Taemin’s gaze through the glass, I fit the rose into the vase with all of the others. “What about Baekhyun’s flower crown, my dress, and my heels?” 

“They’re in my room.” Taemin kicked his shoes off onto the floor and rolled onto his back to lay his head on one of my pillows. “I can only carry so much when I scale up the side of your house.” 

Something in his childish tone made me laugh as I crossed the distance back to him. “Noted, Taem. If climbing is such a struggle for you, why don’t you just come in through the front door?” 

It was impossible, unrealistic, the dream that we could ever love out in the open, but I think I wanted it. I wanted to live in the world where we didn’t have to watch our shadows, look around every corner, lock every closed door. I just didn’t know how to get there, and I couldn’t ask Taemin to lead me to a place that didn’t exist. 

Taemin winked. “Isn’t it more fun this way? Sneaking around like we have something to hide—” he sat up to whisper in my ear, unable to see the goosebumps that formed down my arms concealed by his shirt— “isn’t it exciting?” 

My face burned, but I didn’t shrink away from Taemin’s voice or the kiss he placed on my cheek as my gaze fell onto my hands pressed flat in my lap. Breathless because of his proximity, I was almost too bashful to admit in my faintest whisper, “Everything is exciting with you, my Taemin.” 

“Look at me.” His command was more of a desperate plea. 

When I couldn’t obey, not even to see his brilliant smile, because all of me was on fire, Taemin dropped to his knees before me as he had in one of our American hotel rooms once upon a time. 

It couldn’t have happened just a few months ago. A few months is too short to contain an infinity. And yet, my love for Taemin existed outside of time, perhaps owing to the years of admiring him as an idol from afar, or the decades of secretly dreaming that somebody like him existed and was bound to come my way on some unforeseen river rapid, or maybe— 

Maybe owing to the soul bond signified by the blue ribbon on his wrist. 

“Lei,” Taemin said my name so beautifully, “there’s no reason to be embarrassed. You can look into my eyes and call me yours because it’s true.” His hands cupped my cheeks like he expected me to burst into tears. 

I didn’t want to cry, though. I only wanted to smile. So I did. 

“Really?” I probably looked like a baby staring down at him with eyes blown wide with wonder, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind being vulnerable with him. “You don’t think I’m moving too quickly or being too clingy, or—” 

Taemin’s peel of laughter made me laugh too. He said, “Honestly, I think you should move as quickly as you want. You can be clingier. I told you, I **_like_** it when you’re like this. Do it more, please?” 

It was almost impossible to deny him when he looked at me like that, like I was his favorite part of the world. I crumbled. I fell a little deeper. I wanted to be anything he wanted, knowing that all he wanted was me unrestrained. 

I told him, “It’s hard to hold back from you.” 

Returning to my side to hold me even though the sun was casting its rays across our faces, he urged, “Then don’t.” 

But I— I had to hold some parts for myself, right? I had to keep some things locked in that internal box so they would be intact should a storm blow through and destroy everything or— worse— should he gather his things, including the pieces of me, to continue on his separate way. I— I had to at least be able to tell my future self that I tried to prepare for the worst. 

“Please,” I begged, reaching for the television remote on my nightstand to downplay my reference, “don’t say things like that when I’m trying to do the right thing.” 

I tried to ignore the ensuing silence and distract myself from Taemin’s stare by flicking through a thousand boring channels. 

Taemin didn’t react well to losing my attention. He moved to sit before me, deliberately blocking the television so that there was no choice but to meet his eyes despite the resurgence of butterflies. 

“So,” he laughed bashfully when I raised my eyebrows. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “You remember— um— that?” 

I nodded, blushing mainly because he blushed first. I picked at a button on my shirt. “I remember well enough to quote it.” 

All he said was, “Oh,” before he crawled back to my side and pressed his back to the headboard. 

I didn’t know what to say or what to make of his “Oh,” which was over too quickly to carry any tone with which to gauge his thoughts. Turning my gaze, which followed Taemin everywhere, to the television, I hoped (as always) that the tension would disappear— or at least stop growing— if I didn’t acknowledge it. 

It was like I hadn’t learned anything from my journey of self-discovery. And why? Because I was blushing? Was my hard-won strength really so fragile? 

No. 

Having outgrown foolish, childish coping mechanisms, I rolled my eyes at myself and admitted that it was unfair to leave all silences for Taemin to break just because I was afraid to accidentally shatter something that never should have been mine. I read once that progress isn’t always linear, so I kept that in mind when meeting Taemin’s eyes. 

He had gotten there first. He was watching me. Waiting for me. Quietly. Patiently. Maybe he knew that it was my turn to speak first. 

“I don’t regret anything that happened last night,” I admitted in one breath. “Maybe I should because I have never kissed anybody like that before, and I’ve definitely never taken my dress off in front of anyone before. I don’t know how much I should blame the champagne, but I know I acted like a fool. The problem— if you can really call it a problem, and I know you wouldn’t— is that I don’t mind being a fool for you.” 

If Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross could sing that in “Endless Love,” then I could say it to Taemin. Or at least that’s what I told myself. 

Taemin beamed at my honesty as he always did. Sensing that it was safe to do so, he draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. Normally, nobody lies to feel small, but I was comfortable sinking into his embrace. 

He said, “I don’t regret last night either,” apparently forgetting his apologetic efforts to get our night back on track after we screamed. “I never regret any moment shared with you. I kinda thought you were adorable, to be honest.”

“Adorable?” I scoffed through my grin. “You define things weirdly.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Taemin argued with the shake of his head. “It’s cute when you cling to me and tell me that you love me more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Adorable!”

Blushing at the restatement of my ramblings, I said, “I’m not arguing with you. Things like cuteness and beauty are subjective, so—” 

I was going to say that he just had weird taste by my standards, but Taemin interrupted. “Not this time! Objectively, my composed, dignified Lei is graceful— my emotionally expressive Lei looking up at the moon is beautiful— and my carefree, affectionate, drunk-on-kisses-and-champagne Lei—” 

Composed and dignified once more, if even for a fleeting second, I interjected, “I was not drunk.” 

But Taemin didn’t so much as dignify that with a pointed argumentative look. “You were precious last night. I was happy to see you without a worry in the world even if it was a once in a lifetime event I play over and over again like our first kiss or meeting in the garden or receiving your ribbon.” 

**_Oh,_** I smiled, _**so he revisits our memories too.**_

Because I had been dying to know for as long as he wore my ribbon and I couldn’t remember if I was ever brave enough to ask, I seized the chance to wonder out loud, “Why do you love me, Taemin?”

I didn’t doubt him. At that point, I would have believed any beautiful lie he wanted to tell. I just— maybe this is vain, but I loved to hear what he thought of me spoken into the world. 

Taemin glanced away from his ribbon, which I traced with my free hand, or at our interlaced fingers— whichever he was studying— to fix all of his attention on my curious stare. His eyes didn’t widen in surprise; they crinkled joyfully like I had finally stumbled upon the question he longed to receive because he held the perfect answer. 

“Come close,” he said, feeling as I did that sitting hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, was not nearly enough, “and I’ll tell you.” 

At his command, I leaned closer like I wanted to all along. 

A shiver ran down my spine when he whispered in my ear, “Beauty aside, you’re the gentlest spirit in the whole world. You always walk on your toes, and you look both ways before crossing the street, and you’re sensitive to every change in the wind, and you burn brighter than the sun, but you never try to mark anybody with your flame.” 

I hummed, perplexed that anybody could equate me, the girl who found her reflection on the moon, with something like the bold and beautiful sun. I didn’t argue with Taemin, though. I was too lost in his voice to find mine. I thought that his worldview was more beautiful than mine, and I imagined that by holding him and hearing him I could live in his world. 

Deep down, I think I always wanted to live by the sun. Maybe Taemin didn’t see me how I was— he definitely didn’t see me as I saw myself— but he saw me as I wanted to be. 

He continued, “You think you’re as mysterious as the moon and stars. Sometimes, I want to let you believe that because they’re your idols and I know why. It’s because they taught you how to shine in the dark. I understand, but— even if you’re a mystery to yourself and the people who haven’t been lucky enough to hold the sun— you’re not a mystery to me.”

“Taemin,” I wanted to say, but I couldn’t speak. 

“I see you clearly,” Taemin boasted, wearing this smile that was childlike in its beauty like seeing me in this figurative sense gave him an advantage over every other person in the world. “I always have. How could I not love you with all of my heart?”

“Taemin,” I finally breathed raggedly because his name was the only thing to say. 

Still, he wasn’t finished speaking. He could have talked forever, and I would have listened forever. He pointed out the window. Because he drew the curtains on his way in, I had to squint through the blinding light to find our garden off in the distance. 

“Notice how I told you all of that in the sunlight?” He tugged me closer and sat me between his legs, clad in black sweatpants, so that my back was pressed to his chest. Holding tight around my waist, almost squeezing the air out of my diaphragm because it wasn’t enough to steal my breath with his words, he laid his head on my shoulder and hummed, “We’re not a dream. We don’t melt or fade in the sunlight, so you don’t have to be afraid for the night to end anymore. I mean it when I say forever, and I don’t mind saying it again and again until that word doesn’t scare you.” 

“Taemin,” I breathed again. I was tempted to lie that I wasn’t afraid— which really wasn’t much of a lie when he held me. I almost wanted to tell him that I wasn’t afraid of a forever with him; I was afraid of anything less. 

Because there was no room in the air for my fears, I said neither of those things. Cutting my eyes at him, holding absolutely no malice or genuine desire for him to stop, I said, “You’re making my chest hurt. I can’t breathe when you talk like this.”

“Last night,” he reminded me with a smile and the subtle raising of his eyebrows, “you said that you love when I talk to you like this.” 

I did. I do. 

He would never forget anything that I said on New Year's Eve, and I wouldn’t either. I’ve read that major life events result in a new perspective on life. There is life before the incident, and then there is life after. The incident shines a new light on everything that happened prior, and the incident is woven intricately into the understanding of the present.

Giving Taemin my ribbon was one such incident. Crying with him in the garden was another. New Year's Eve, with all of its kisses and clumsy attempts at intimacy, carried the latest collection of incidents. 

True to who he had been since he started wearing the ribbon, Taemin didn’t stop pouring his heart out on me in overflowing portions just so I could catch my breath. He laid us down, holding me flush against his body so I couldn't shiver because of the winter wind blowing in through the open window; I couldn’t hide should the compulsion strike again; I couldn't mistake his sincerity; I couldn’t think to the future beyond his palms pressed to mine and his heart pounding with mine and his lips dancing with mine. 

I never thought that anything could better express the soul than words, poetry, a diary addressed to a most beloved friend, a metaphor, music, the piano, the violin, a voice in a foreign tongue that carries your darkest fears into the light that recolors them dreams, a lifelong glance at a sky of moon and stars, watching the sea run and return to the shore at the moon’s command, but Taemin’s kiss. Taemin’s kiss. 

It’s strange to say that I found more of myself there than anywhere else. Is that what it means to be soulmates? I don’t know, but I’m going to believe that the answer is yes even if that makes me a fool. Don’t tell me if I’m wrong or delusional or walking in a dream.

e.e. cummings was right: ‘kisses are a better fate than wisdom.’

My thoughts were tangled and blurred, but I remember thinking that I couldn’t breathe, but it would have been harder to breathe if he should ever go away. I remember sighing, relieved that we laid on my bed (that wasn’t nearly as cloud soft as his) because my legs were jelly and I almost certainly couldn’t stand. I remember thinking that this— being with Taemin— was what it felt like to fly. 

And I didn’t know how to stop— I didn’t want to stop— so I flew with him until the sun descended and the stars and moon, my old friends, ascended in its place. 

And that’s how Mom found us: impossibly close and still, _**still**_ too far apart. 


	15. Our Story

The mere seconds that Mom spent staring at me and Taemin, slackjawed in the doorway, might as well have lasted forever.

I think we wouldn’t have looked half as guilty if we hadn’t flinched lightyears apart from each other at her gasp, but it was our instinct to run and hide. As it turns out, we didn’t melt or fade in the light of discovery, but we certainly did burn.

“Oops!” Mom almost giggled as she tiptoed back into the hallway and closed the door with a soft click. Like she had done something wrong, she apologized. “I’m sorry! Lei, I just came to tell you that dinner is ready. Come down whenever you get hungry!”

Before I could speak even in a timid squeak of a voice, I heard Mom’s footsteps retreat down the stairs. Because tense silence had fallen over my room, I heard Donghae ask, “Where’s Lei? Is she okay?”

And I heard Heechul say, “She’s not curled up in bed with her radio crying her eyes out to SHINee again, is she? I thought we were past that phase!”

I went red in the face because I had certainly grown a bit past that phase, but only because I had Taemin— the real-life person— to curl up with. Thinking only that Taemin was a million times more comforting than any CD had ever been– and that’s really saying something since you know well that music was my best friend before Lucas— I glanced at him.

From the foot of the bed where he had tucked himself into a humiliated ball, Taemin sprang to his feet and started pacing around in the dark.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed, nearly tripping over his shoes. “She caught us. Your mother— my manager— caught me in your room. She caught us kissing. She caught us kissing in your room. She caught me kissing you on your bed in your room. She caught me whispering into your mouth that I love you on your bed in the dark in your room.”

I had been flustered before Taemin became a human embodiment of anxiety. A fact about me: I strive for balance in almost every situation. If somebody (take Lucas for example) is bouncing off the walls, I will sit perfectly still. If somebody is frowning, I am trying to make them smile, even if it’s the briefest, dimmest sort of smile. If somebody (like Taemin was that night) is in a panic, I am level-headed.

So when Taemin tugged at his hair, whining, “She’s going to kill me. And if she doesn’t kill me, she’ll make me break up with you, and then that’s gonna kill me. Shit, shit, shit.”

“She is not going to kill you,” I said confidently because I knew Mom like the back of my hand. Granted, I didn’t know every detail of her life before me, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t angry. Mom never apologizes when she isn’t sorry. She never apologizes when she’s mad.

I was kind of joking when I said, “If she wanted to kill you, she would have sent Heechul and Donghae flying up the stairs, and—”

"Shit!” Taemin hissed. Profanities didn’t suit him. “Super Junior is going to kill me!”

Slightly wavering in confidence, I assured him, “No, they’re not. Mom isn’t going to say anything to Super Junior.”

Besides, I rationalized to myself, Yesung, who would have posed the biggest threat to Taemin’s life, already knew that we were together. If Yesung didn’t kill Taemin at the Christmas party, I figured that we were in the clear.

If Taemin hadn’t been pacing so quickly, I might have tried to catch him in my arms to kiss his worries away as he had done for me. Given that kissing had led to this tension, though, he might not have appreciated the affection. Maybe it’s a good thing that I didn’t try to kiss him.

Taemin collapsed onto the edge of the bed and buried his face into his hands. When moments passed in silence, I took the chance to say, “She won’t make us break up either, Taem. She just– she was probably just shocked because she didn’t know you were here. On top of that, she has always thought that Lucas and I are a thing, so—”

Into his palms, Taemin groaned, "She probably thinks you’re cheating on Lucas with me or something! That makes everything a billion times worse!”

“It’s more likely that she just realized that Lucas and I were never together. I mean, I’ve told her often enough that the message was bound to sink in sooner or later.” After pulling Taemin’s hands away from his face, I laced our fingers together. I gave both hands a gentle squeeze. “I get that this isn’t how we wanted Mom to find out about us, but she had to find out somehow.”

To tell you the truth, I was relieved that she found out in this private aspect of life and not through a tabloid expose.

“I know that you wanted to keep this– us– a secret so we could be roommates on tour, but we couldn’t hide in the dark forever.”

And to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to. I wasn’t eager to pen some press release or anything, but I think I was outgrowing that compulsion, that dependence on secrecy and shadows; they didn’t comfort me anymore.

From everything that happened over those past few months, I learned that secrets are damning. At least in my own home, I wanted to live openly and honestly. Maybe Mom’s unexpected discovery made that possible.

Stunned by my lack of humiliation, slackjawed because, for the first time, Taemin was embarrassed while I was not, I realized out loud, “I think— I think I’m glad that she found out.” Drawing a deep breath, the kind that makes you realize that you’ve been holding your breath for far too long, I admitted, “I think— I think I’ve wanted her to know for a long time. Maybe forever.”

Silence ensued as Taemin breathed heavily. Deeply. Inhale, count to ten. Exhale, count to ten.

My mouth opened, probably to explain that I nearly told Mom all about us on the drive to Grandma’s house on my debut anniversary, but Taemin’s stare took my voice away. He blinked at me. The spark in his eyes made me think that he wanted to smile at me. In hindsight, I guess he didn’t. Taemin always smiled whenever he wanted to smile, and he didn’t offer me the smallest grin for the rest of the night.

“I have to go,” he breathed before stepping into his shoes.

That deep breath I had just drawn passed through my lips all at once. I said the wrong thing. There is nothing worse than when the truth— the full and absolute truth that rings in the deepest part of your heart— is the wrong thing to say. How can anyone regret telling the truth? How can anybody want to snatch the truth out of the air once it has been released?

“O-okay.”

My stutter did not pass unnoticed despite my efforts to hide it with a smile. Taemin sat back by my side, took my face into his warm hands, and pecked at my lips. The kiss was over before I even realized it was happening.

“I love you, baby,” Taemin promised. I swooned less at the affirmation of what I already knew and more at the variation of his name for me. He tucked some hair behind my ear. “Go down to dinner, and I’ll talk to you later.”

Rising to my feet in time with him, I said, “I love you too. Forever, Taemin.”

Because I didn’t want to watch him scramble out of the window, because I was at great risk of begging him to stay for dinner with Mom and Donghae and Heechul and Lucas— my family— to once and for all drag our remaining secrets into the light, I walked away. From the vanity, I grabbed the old photograph that I had yet to return to Donghae. I don’t think I closed the door behind me on my way out of the room.

I tiptoed down the stairs, quietly hoping that Taemin would follow. Or maybe I was hoping that I would return from dinner to find him waiting on my bed with open arms. In the end, I was disappointed, but I didn’t feel like a fool for daring to hope.

…

It turned out that Lucas’s description of the rivalry between Donghae and Heechul was not all that dramatized.

Sandwiched between the two men at the dining room table, Mom looked nothing like the fairytale queen I imagined she would become in her happy ending. The squabbling must have gotten under her skin, etched those lines into her forehead, weighed down on the corners of her lips, and sharpened the glare she hurled at Heechul for a (probably offensive) comment that I hadn’t heard over my thoughts as I reached the foot of the stairs.

“Lei!” Lucas cheered, pumping two fists into the air, because he was no longer alone with the adults. “Where’ve ya been?”

I couldn’t narrow or roll my eyes at Lucas. He had no way to know that I had been kissing Taemin all day. He didn’t have any clue that Mom just walked in on the most intimate moment of my life.

Blushing slightly under everybody’s stare— smiling only because Moms smiled first and reminded me that everything was okay— I hummed, “I was just counting the stars.”

As I sat in the seat next to Lucas and across from Donghae, I sat the picture frame onto the table. I met Donghae’s gentle gaze and nodded. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“I believe it does!” Donghae beamed and took the photograph into his hands. “Is this a new frame?” He asked as his thumb traced along the infinity symbol.

“Yep!” I omitted the fact that I had broken the original frame on that night I peeled his poster off the wall. “I— I hope you like it.” I would have bashfully dropped my gaze onto the table if Donghae were the kind of person anyone could look away from. He looks right through the soul, you know, and I was finally comfortable with that.

While he untied one of the white threads around his wrist, Donghae swore, “I love it, Lei!” He motioned for me to hold out my wrist.

I watched, smiling, as Donghae knotted the infinity bracelet for me. All I could think about was my ribbon around Taemin’s wrist. All I could think was that Donghae’s thread bracelet was a ribbon too. We were tied together. Soulmates. Forever.

Then, my eyes were drawn to his red thread ribbon. Mom wore– wears— one identical to that. They were tied together too. Soulmates. Forever.

So don’t fault me for disagreeing with Taemin’s belief that everything was falling apart with Mom’s discovery of our kiss. It was clear for anybody to see (if they knew where to look) that happiness wasn’t contingent upon the idea that everything will be okay. Everything was okay. Everything is okay. Happiness had arrived.

Except it wasn’t happiness. The warmth spreading through my chest and painting life– which had gone from dull shades of gray to pale hues with Lucas to sporadic brilliant bursts of color in the night with Taemin— was named joy. I read once that joy is forever, and I believed it then, and I believe it still. So, for the first time in a long time, as I looked at Donghae and Donghae looked back at me, I was not afraid for the sun to rise. I was not anxious because the sun had risen.

“It’s not fair!” Heechul shrieked, pounding his fists on the table. “I practically live here, and the girl still favors Donghae!” Staring at me so intently that I thought his eyes might pop out of his head, Heechul demanded, “How come we never exchange gifts at the table, huh? I’ve been crashing on that couch for however many years, and you’ve never given me so much as a high-five!”

I raised my hands in total sincere surrender. “Look, I’m not picking favorites. I love you both. And if you start getting annoying and demanding me to pick favorites– well– let’s not get into this again.”

Donghae pouted into his glass of water. “You mean Yesung is still your favorite?”

And Heechul groaned at the ceiling, “Why am I not surprised?”

And Lucas chirped, “You gotta love Lei’s unfailing loyalty!”

As I started forking through my dinner– a salad because a.) my mouth was entirely too sensitive to the spicy noodles everyone else could slurp without watering in the eyes, and b.) I was trying yet another diet– Mom caught my eye. She was watching me, smiling knowingly, determined to see me blush.

Uninterested in attracting any of the boys’ attention, I subtly raised my eyebrows, trusting that Mom wouldn’t say anything to expose my intimate information.

“You’re not busy tomorrow are you?” I swear, she winked at me and I almost choked. “I was hoping that you could meet with me tomorrow. Nothing too serious, just a quick check-in on that project you’ve been working on.”

Obviously, there was no project. Mom was just trying to tease me a bit and ensure that I made time to tell her about the events that led to the kiss that took our breath away.

Donghae and Heechul didn’t know any of that, though, and they started pestering me about the project— “Is it a new song?” Heechul asked, and Donghae guessed, “Is the agency letting you write a ballad?"— while Lucas watched me through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Would you two hush?” Mom hissed at Donghae and Heechul. “Just let Lei keep her secrets for now!”

Mom and I laughed together and the others looked at us like we were crazy. That’s okay, though. I didn’t mind their stares. I was too happy that Mom saw me; I was too happy that there would be no more secrets between us come tomorrow morning. If I had it my way, I decided, there would never be another secret between us for the rest of our lives.

“I always have time for you,” I told her through a grin. “Just name the hour, and I’ll drop everything for you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


I had until 9 o'clock in the morning to decide what I wanted to tell Mom. Once I walked into my bedroom, I flipped on the overhead light, nabbed an empty moleskine notebook from the bookshelf, and sat at the desk I hadn’t used since the long past poetry-writing days. Having grown significantly since then, I had to pull that little lever that lowers the rolling office chair.

Several of the pens that I dug out of the top drawer had gone dry, but I finally found one– a dark almost-black blue– that worked. I used it to map out the constellations, everything that happened before the kiss. Debuting with SuperM, giving Taemin my ribbon, the first game of Truth or Dare, crying that night in the garden, falling asleep with Taemin every night in America, the NCT Dream VLive incident, the Great Come Apart in Grandma’s dining room, the roller coaster that was the Christmas party, visiting the wishing fountain where Baekhyun gave me a flower crown, kissing Taemin throughout New Year’s Night and into New Year’s Day.

I poured all of myself into that story, this story. On these pages, you can find me: my fears, my dreams, my hopes. I hope you love me as much as I love you. I know you do, Mom. I know you do.

By the time I lay me down to sleep, it is 4 O'Clock in the morning. Now, I wait for the sun to rise so I can share everything.

  



	16. Live in the Light

When I tiptoe into Lucas’s room shortly after the break of dawn, handwritten novel in hand, I expect to find him fast asleep in a cocoon of blankets. Instead, I find him laying on the floor, bare chest and stomach flat against the hardwood and ear pressed to the air vent. His hair is blown wild. His eyes are wide and staring through me like he knows he has been caught up to no good, but he does not flinch away from the vent or sit upright or offer any explanation for his behavior. 

As I close the door quietly, feeling that silence is of utmost importance, I ask, “What are you doing?” Mostly, I want to know why he is awake; I had been looking forward to shaking him awake and interrupting his sleepy grumbling to boast that I stayed up all night writing a book (!!!!), a permanent account of this time in our lives. 

Lucas hisses, “Hush!” and brinks his index finger up to his puckered lips. “I’m trying to hear." 

**_"Hear what?"_** I almost ask even though I suspect the answer. 

Lucas keeps talking even though he is trying to hear. "You know, I was kinda pissed when Mom dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn to talk about dating rules or whatever, but at least she woke me up in time to hear this!" 

Lucas makes room for me on the floor, and I obey his gesture to fill the space. He is wearing that smug grin that he always wears when gossiping— the grin that is now almost exclusively reserved for teasing me about Taemin. 

Although I guessed that Lucas was eavesdropping on Taemin’s meeting with Mom before I dropped onto my knees to lower my ear to the frozen vent, my heart swells at the sound of his voice. 

"I’m in love with her,” Taemin is saying plainly, casually, comfortably, confidently. My first thought is that I have never spoken with such ease and that I likely never will; then, my fingers trace the binding of my story, and I remember that my time is coming. 

Taemin slips into last night’s anxious rhythm. Sounding very much like me as his voice wavers, Taemin continues, “I have never tried to be a bad influence. I didn't _**mean**_ to keep our love locked in the dark. I want to bring it into the light. It’s just—” Taemin sighs— “It’s hard when something is born under the moon. Lei is a lot smarter than me. She thinks a lot more than me. So I probably should have believed her when she first told me that someone is always watching. She was right. She is right." 

All at once, it occurs to me that I have never wanted to be right. Especially not about that. Especially when I am just repeating something that somebody else told me— that somebody else taught me. 

Lucas slings an arm around my shoulders. His skin burns mine through my pajamas. Maybe he thinks that he is holding me together, but I know that I am not falling apart. I’m just frowning. I’m just a little disappointed by certain facts of life. 

"If I knew some way to love her out in the open, I would,” Taemin promises. “I try. Sometimes, I think I’ve made some kind of breakthrough. I think I’ve brought us to some place without shadows. But I just— I haven’t." 

_**"You have,"**_ I want to argue. I bite my tongue, though, because it is not my turn to speak. I have spoken to the insecurities Taemin has entrusted to me, and only Mom can speak to those he entrusts to her. Greedily, selfishly, I want all of Taemin to myself— even the parts that he would probably rather hide.

Suddenly, it hits me. I shouldn’t be listening to this. I was not invited to this conversation. Yet, I cannot walk away. I have to hear how Mom responds. 

Taemin keeps rambling. "I’m sorry that I snuck into your house. I’m sorry I ruined your perception of me. I’m sorry that—" 

To interrupt his spiral, to catch him like he caught me in the garden, Mom gently says, "Taemin." 

When I close my eyes to lose myself in her voice, I can almost see her reaching across the table to pat his hand or trace her fingers along my ribbon around his wrist. She probably recognizes it instantly now that she sees it up close. She picked it out. 

"As your manager, I have to know things like this to protect you. You understand how your professional reputation could have suffered if the press ran a story about you and Lei while I was completely unprepared, don’t you?”

Lucas and I stiffen and huddle together to share warmth and confidence as we hear Taemin swallowing the lump in his throat. Through a cough, Taemin assures her, “Yes, ma'am. I understand. I’m sorry." 

"And surely I don’t have to point out how dangerous it is for you to climb in and out of that window every night,” Mom probably frowns at her. Worry probably etches a line into her forehead between her eyebrows. “And I do assume that climbing in through the window to Lei’s room is an every night ordeal." 

Taemin is not a liar, so he does not try to convince Mom that she has assumed incorrectly. "No, ma'am,” he mumbles, probably through a pout. “You don’t have to point that out." 

"Good. Now, as Lei’s Mother—" 

Mom sighs as she switches one persona for another. Lucas, Taemin, and I hold our breath. What Mom says as my mother is far more valuable than what she says as our manager. As proven by her departure with Super Junior, she is not always a manager, but she is forever my Mom. 

"I don’t want you to hide your love for Lei. Ever. And I am sorry if I have ever said or done anything to make you think that you had to hide from me." 

Taemin and I interrupt at the same time to blurt, "You didn’t." 

But Mom continues, probably smiling fondly, probably hearing me. "I want you to love her out loud. I know that you can’t do that on every street or under every light. I understand that; I promise. I never made my debut, but it is not hard for me to imagine how suffocating it must be to look around every corner. I want you to feel free to breathe in these walls. There should be no shadows here. There should be only shade, and that means no more sneaking through the window!" 

Mom’s laughter, I imagine, paints Taemin’s face scarlet. Mom’s laughter, I know, sculpts identical toothy grins into my face and Lucas’s. Lucas crushes me with a hug while Mom says, "That means walking through the front door and making yourself at home!" 

Because Mom knows Taemin strictly in a professional setting, she might not expect him to take her invitation to heart. Like Lucas before him, and Heechul before Lucas, Taemin will make a permanent residence in our house. Should either of us ever hope to be free from him, we will be disappointed to learn that life without him is dull or gray or nonexistent. Taemin will touch everything, make his mark on everything, and nothing— nothing will ever be as it once was. 

I will never again be as I once was. 

"Okay,” Taemin says so sweetly that I can feel him smiling. His smile melts my heart into a puddle on Lucas’s floor. There’s no point in trying to mop it up. He promises Mom, “I’ll make you happy that your Lei is in love with me.”

Mom promises him in a voice as warm as the morning sun, “I am already happy." 

And I almost push through my trembling fear of change to cheer into the vent that I am happy too. 

  
  
  


Following Mom’s call, I walk into the kitchen where she stands, breathing into an orange cup of coffee that fogs the lenses of her glasses. She sets the cup on a coaster when I lay my notebook on the marble island. She stares down at the notebook, the notebook stares up at her, and because there is little anyone can say to an inanimate object, Mom raises her eyebrows. 

“What’s that?” She asks as her manicured hand reaches for the book. 

I can’t explain why I swipe the book away. I can’t explain why I hug it against my chest except to say, well, **_It’s Mine._**

I answer, “These are my prepared remarks,” through a tense, embarrassed, blushing sort of smile. The sort of smile I would usually reserve for anyone at the agency who isn’t my mother. “And I have to read them to you, or else they won’t sound right.” 

Mom’s head goes aslant. “You— you prepared a statement as if this were an agency meeting?” Something in her voice sounds hurt. 

“No,” I reply instantly. My tone is initially blunt, flat, offended by the misunderstanding, but my voice brightens as it explains, “This is a conversation between a Mother and Daughter. Me and You. This—” I raise the notebook so it almost conceals all of my blushing face— “Is a record of everything I want to remember, everything I can never forget, everything I was born to tell you.” 

Drawing a deep breath, I condition, “But this won’t work if we wear our masks. This won’t work if I tell you as Lei, the idol, and you listen as Kimberly, the manager, or as Kimberly, the idol who never debuted. We— we have to share this experience as Lei and Mom, the people bonded by the universe.” 

Do I sound too authoritarian? Too strict? Bossy? 

After pushing her fogged glasses up past her hairline, Mom looks at me. She has to squint to make out my features. Most likely, I am still blurry, but I don’t smile to be seen. I smile because I just want to smile for her. 

“Okay, baby.” She rounds the island to cup my cheek in her palm. Her skin has always been so soft, so warm. Exactly what you would expect her touch to feel like. The kind of touch that could piece together a shattered flower in the garden. 

Feeling under-dressed in my pajamas now that Mom stands before me in a white collared shirt and black slacks, I laugh. “Was I supposed to dress up?” I stop just short of asking if Taemin dressed up only because it is not time to say his name. 

Mom steps back to take in my appearance. “Well, it wouldn’t have killed you to change out of the pajamas you wore to dinner last night, Lei.” Her red-painted lips curl into a smirk as her hands raise to straighten the collar of my shirt. “I guess you’re not eager to change out of Taemin’s shirt, though, huh?” 

My cheeks tingle, and my smile grows, and my heart swells, and butterflies rage through my stomach, and I fall even deeper into the sky, ** _far, far, far_** past the clouds and stars, at Taemin’s name. Catching Mom around the wrist, knowing that my touch is not soft or warm, I confess, “I’m in love with him,” because that is all I have ever wanted to say. “I am in love with Taemin. I never believed that I would get to meet him or work with him. I never believed that I would give him my ribbon or that I would give him my heart, but I think I must have dreamt about it all those nights I fell asleep listening to his voice through the radio.” 

Mom looks like me when she wants to cry. Her fingers lace through mine. If I was falling apart— if I was crumbling under the moon— she would hold me together. “I knew I recognized that ribbon!” She smiles. “When did you give it to him? And why? And why does he wear it like a bracelet?” 

“Honestly, I can’t believe he didn’t tell you about it. That ribbon is his favorite thing to brag about.” My cheeks burn and ache as my smile broadens. “I’ll tell you. It’s all in here, in this book. I— I can’t wait to read it to you.” 

Mom’s free hand reaches out for the notebook again, but only so her fingers can trace the letters I wrote on the front. The title. **_For You._**

“ ** _For You_** ,” she mutters under her breath. Her lips quiver. She is going to cry; maybe not right now, but she will cry soon. “Who is ‘ **You** ’?”

Mom’s watering eyes have formed a lump in my throat. It hurts to squeeze words past the lump, but I force them through anyway. I know I’m strong enough. I know that these words will not hurt me. Not forever, anyway. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that scars. A necessary pain. Growing pain. 

“‘ **You** ’ is everybody I’ve ever wanted to be honest.” My voice is hoarse. “‘You’ is Taemin, and Donghae, and Lucas, and Sehun, and Baekhyun, and myself, and Grandma, and myself, and— most of all, ‘ **you** ’ is you, Mom. Every word in this— I wrote all of them for you so that you might understand me in my own words. That’s how much I love you: I want to share all of myself with you.” 

Mom is stepping closer to the verge of tears, but the stability of her voice could fool anybody into believing otherwise. “That’s how much I love you: I live to hear every word you have ever thought.” 

Before I can start to cry before the story has begun, Mom squeezes my hand. She makes me strong enough to remember that tears are not a sign of weakness. Tears are a form of self-expression, a way to release what we can no longer hold on to and carry. 

“How long is this story going to be?” Mom asks. “Should we sit on the couch in the living room?”

I admit, “It’s kind of long. I was up until 4 o’clock writing it.” Laughing at the thought of Lucas panicking beside his vent upstairs, I say, “Lucas is listening through the vent in his room, though, and he won’t be able to hear us if we talk in the living room. His heart will be broken, and I am not in the business of hurting Lucas.” 

Lucas does not give me or Mom the chance to draw the shallowest breath before he bellows, “WAIT FOR ME, I’LL BE RIGHT DOWN!”

The closest I come to protesting, which is not close at all, is screaming at an equal volume, “PUT A SHIRT ON, LUCAS! Nobody wants to see you in the nude!” 

Because he is tangled in a tight black shirt that blinds him, Lucas stumbles over several steps at the bottom of the staircase. Thankfully, he is tall enough to land on his feet at the last possible second. The moment his head emerges through the shirt, his tongue darts out at me. “I betcha never tell Taemin to put a shirt on!” 

Mom laughs. She never corrects Lucas’s bratty behavior at home. It makes me sick. 

I resist the urge to retort that I have only seen Taemin shirtless one (1) time because a.) I don’t want to spoil any of the story for Mom, and b.) Lucas will somehow psychically ** _know_** that I hadn’t told Taemin to put his shirt on. Lucas always knows what I wish he would never find out; he probably knows that I am wearing the shirt discarded during that New Year’s strip rock-paper-scissors game. It’s just by some miracle that he hasn’t blurted it out. 

“If you’re gonna stay down here, Lucas, you can’t interrupt to say anything stupid!” I roll my eyes as if there is even the tiniest part of me that wants him to be absent from the first reading of my story. Realizing that there is no way he will be able to hold his tongue for the full duration of the story, realizing that I don’t _**want**_ Lucas to feel at all unwelcome, I decide, “I will break between chapters for commentary.”

“Fine,” Lucas agrees. He snatches the post-it note magnet from the refrigerator and announces, “I’ll write my commentary so I don’t forget anything I want to say. But you have to promise that you’ll publish my notes with the finalized novel!” 

My mouth opens to argue that I have absolutely no intention of publishing such a personal manuscript, but I catch the words before they fall out. The day could too easily be squandered in an argument with Lucas, and I want to finish telling the story before Taemin bursts through the front door with his whole suitcase or something. 

“Whatever, Lucas,” I sigh as I lead Mom into the living room by the hand. “Just make sure you write legibly.” 

**COMMENTARY BY LUCAS WONG**

**Chapter 1:**

  * Lei is HOT with short hair!
  * Mom told us not to end up like the idol who never debut, but she (!!!!!) was the idol who never debuted all along!!!! Sneaky!!!!
  * Mom DID look hot in that pantsuit! Tbh though Mom looks hot in everything
  * Lei kept getting distracted by Taemin’s laugh bc she was in LOVE all ALONG!!!
  * bro, shindong is always starting some shit
  * How could we not tell that Mom and Donghae were in love the whole time???
  * Kai was so annoying that day on set, but at least I got to be in that subunit! 
  * Wait, imagine if TAEMIN had been in the subunit though… that would be hot… note to self: convince Mom to debut Lei x Taemin subunit— puppy eyes maneuver
  * How the HELL did Baek know that Mom is the idol who never debuted? He’s so suspicious… note to self: keep an eye on Baek



**Chapter 2:**

  * Don’t be lonely, Lei!!! I’m here!
  * Man, I really did try to save Lei from Baek’s kidnapping plot
  * Lei’s really that weak for Baek’s smile? Sounds sus… note to self: keep an eye on Lei
  * Yeah, Ten IS conniving
  * Yeah, I AM cute by coincidence, fate, AND nature
  * Taemin’s not a mystery to me, dude, and he KNOWS he’s had you wrapped around his finger since day one 
  * Man, i’m so glad Kai likes Lei now. For a minute there, I thought we were gonna have to fight or something
  * So THAT’S what she and Taemin talked about by the lake!!!
  * Lei’s thing for Jaemin was, is, and always will be disgusting. Don’t ship it. 
  * The Ice Incident hahahahahahhaa
  * Real funny how Lei never liked my cuddles, but she can’t sleep without Taemin
  * So THAT’S what Kai said to Lei on the pier!



_**[Editor’s Note:** This is all of Lucas’s written commentary. Onward from Chapter 3, the chapter about Donghae’s birthday party, Lucas sat silently perched on the edge of his seat and listened to the rest of the story, crying when he was compelled to cry (usually by Ms. Kim’s tears), laughing when he was compelled to laugh (usually by Ms. Kim’s laughter), and generally drowning in pride and admiration for his best friend, who had expressed herself most genuinely. **]**_

By the time I close the notebook, throat tight and sore from speaking for so long and resisting the urge to cry, neither Mom nor Lucas is looking at me. Their gazes are fixed on the floor. Mom still strokes the back of my head, though, so I do not feel unnerved by the silence. 

Finally, Lucas breaks the silence when he demands to know, “Well, what happens next?” 

As I gawk at him, unaware of how to explain the concept of time and the unpredictability of the future, Mom softly says, “Lucas, honey, we’re all caught up with the present. Lei wrote about the past. Unless she wants to start making things up, or unless she starts having psychic visions, the story is over. At least for now!”

“Oh.” Lucas’s lips press into a pout. His eyes widen and glitter as they meet mine. “That was the best story ever!” He runs over to crush me with a hug. “Promise you’ll write more! Please!”

I glance desperately at Mom, quietly urging her to tell Lucas to get off, but she says no such thing. Wiping at the few remaining tears in her eyes, she agrees, “It was really good. Writing seems therapeutic for you. Maybe you should keep making time to journal, even if you don’t share your work with anybody.”

Finally, Lucas releases me and collapses at my side. As I nod at Mom’s advice, I think that there is no way I could ever keep my writing to myself ever again. Maybe I won’t read it in public. Maybe I will never share myself with strangers. Maybe I won’t publish it under my name or at all. But there is no shortage of people to share my words with: Grandma, Mom, Donghae, Lucas, Taemin. 

Gradually, or maybe all at once, I will trust them with everything. 

I think that’s what it means to live in the light. 

  
  
  
  



	17. Epilogue Part 1

## 1\. No Longer

My heart is lighter than air as I mount the stairs after reading my story, my soul, to Mom and Lucas. I tuck the notebook beneath the blankets on the side of the bed closest to the window, the side that Taemin always fills. Then, I walk into the cold-tiled bathroom to shower and wash myself of all past pains, all past shames, all past fears.

Stepping into a set of canary yellow pajamas that I haven’t worn in years (because they were lost to my _**Rugrats**_ phase), I decide that I will embrace life’s changes. I will no longer be afraid, and I will no longer cling to the shadows, and I will follow Taemin into the light, and there—

“No,” I correct myself as I meet my reflection after wiping the fog from the mirror. Nobody ever grows in the blink of an eye. No change forced into a single breath ever lasts past the exhale.

So why— why do I keep trying to rush myself?

I have to learn patience. More than anyone else, I should understand my fears and hesitations. If I can’t treat myself with compassion, then who will? As much as I love Taemin— which is far too much to quantify with mere words even if I write in every empty notebook filling the bookshelf— can I rely on him to love me into the person I was born to be? Should I?

 ** _I don’t know_** , I answer as I lay myself down to catch up on hours or lifetimes of lost sleep. I don’t know how much I should want or need Taemin’s love. But I do know how much I crave my own love. My own admiration.

It’s not that I desire my love alone; it’s just— there is no substitution for self-love. I want to meet my reflection, which I have avoided for years, with a smile for the rest of my life. The next time the wind blows, I do not want to question who I am, or who I was, or who I might grow to be.

As I close my eyes at Taemin’s texted request, I make a simple resolution that I will likely wrestle with for the rest of my days: be kinder to me. Write love letters to me. Count the stars in my eyes. Learn my virtues as well as I have memorized my vices. Love me.

Love me.

I will.

## 2\. Touch

The door opens with a deafening **BANG** that stirs me from a deep sleep. Lucas’s warm breath hisses into my ear, “There’s a burglar in the house.”

As I bolt upright, he screams and I whimper. Our heads collide. While we rub at the maroon lumps swelling on our foreheads, I ask in a voice muddied by sleep, “What?” The word is unintelligible to my ears, but Lucas understands.

“There’s a burglar in the house!” He repeats, throwing my quilt onto the floor. “Come on! We gotta rescue Mom!”

Because I am tired enough to believe Lucas— or, more likely, I believe that my blissful dream about Taemin’s kisses has morphed into a bizarre nightmare— I obey. Rubbing the sleep out of my puffy eyes, I follow Lucas into the hallway. I run on the tips of my toes because the floor is frozen.

Bravery courses through my veins, warm and throbbing, when muffled voices from the kitchen reach my ears. Probably because I don’t feel awake, and therefore I am indestructible, I assert, “I should walk in front.” Lucas is shielding me with his bulky body. “You know, because I am a black belt in Taekwondo.”

“I am not letting you walk in front!” Lucas growls through gritted teeth, glaring at me over his shoulder. I don’t know what floods his mind with the delusion that he is the dominant one. I don’t know why he always forgets who the boss is (me). How many times do I have to remind him?

“Some lunatic is holding Mom hostage! I’m not losing you too!” Lucas swings a bat that I have not yet noticed. “Plus, I have the weapon!”

The bat nearly bashes and bloodies my nose, but I catch it and push it away, glaring. “You are a danger to yourself and others,” I tell him.

If my mother were being held captive downstairs (and my now awakened brain argues that she most likely is NOT), I would not trust Lucas to rescue her. That’s not entirely true. In a fairytale, Lucas would be one of those knights who fights evil with a pure heart, not with a sword. The only issue is that we don’t live in a fairytale. I wish we did, though.

Before Lucas can descend the first step, I grab the back of his shirt and use all my strength to hurl him behind me. With my hands raised defensively (in preparation for the unlikely worst-case scenario), I make it halfway down the stairs. Then Lucas, being an idiot, tackles me, and we tumble down the rest of the way.

It’s only through divine intervention that we don’t break any bones— namely, our necks. It’s only by an undeserved miracle that I don’t suffocate under the brunt impact of Lucas’s full weight.

While my face, which I had protected from the bat just moments ago, grinds into the floor, Mom laughs. (So, she is very clearly not in danger.) Lucas gasps, “Taemin?”

Great. The last person I want to catch me landing face-first at the foot of the stairs.

I lift my head to stare at him. Taemin. My Taemin.

He stands across from Mom at the kitchen island. His hands are reaching into a bag from some fast food place— McDonald’s, I think. His eyes are wide, glittering, and not blinking. His pretty pink lips are rounded into a perfect “o” shape.

Although embarrassment burns through my entire being, I do not try to hide my face. I cannot look away from Taemin. He is a dream come true breathing beside Mom. He is a dream come true wearing that hoodie he stole from my bag once upon a time in an American hotel room. He is a dream come true when his only makeup is the natural blush born on one cheek, crawling across the bridge of his nose, and pooling onto the other cheek.

He is beyond beautiful. He is beyond a dream come true. And I love him. I love him so much it hurts.

Or maybe loving Taemin doesn’t hurt at all. Maybe all that hurts is Lucas’s elbow digging into my back.

Snapping out of the drooling admiration of my boyfriend, I wheeze, “Get **_off_** , Lucas!” I only start to catch my breath when Lucas stands and I start to rub the aches out of my ribs.

Without helping me onto my feet or offering the briefest apology even as a formality, Lucas skips into the kitchen. I roll my eyes. Sometimes— rarely— Lucas is annoyingly inconsiderate. A lot of boys are, I guess. Dumb. As he plucks a fry out of the bag Taemin’s hand is lost in, Lucas asks, “What are you doing here?”

Taemin doesn’t answer, though, because his attention is fixed on me. He gawks at me, jaw hanging, as I walk into the kitchen. I do not wonder why he is staring, and I do not dare to match his gaze.

The cold air raises goosebumps on my arms, legs, and the thin strip of skin exposed between my shorts and cropped tank top. (The tank top, by the way, dons the main **_Rugrats_** characters, most notably baby Dil Pickles, AKA my favorite baby ever). This set of pajamas has always been reserved only for sleeping. Before Lucas dragged me out of bed to confront a non-existent burglar, I hadn’t worn it outside of my room because— well— it isn’t exactly comfortable or appropriate considering the rotating cast of characters (usually Lucas and Heechul) constantly roaming around the house.

Folding my arms over my exposed stomach, I try to hide my lower body behind Mom’s side of the island. The smile that I offer in the hopes of deterring her from noticing my attire is defective, of course. Mom’s eyes rake over me with an interest rivaling Taemin’s. Because he is enthralled by the overflowing McDonald’s bag, Lucas is the only person who isn’t ogling me. He has never really stared at me. Maybe that’s why we are best friends.

Pinching at both of my cheeks (as if they aren’t red enough already), Mom squeals, “You look adorable, Lei!” And I want to disappear.

Reaching across the counter-top to link his pinky with mine, Taemin winks. “I agree.” And I want to glare at him for flirting right in front of Mom. Except I don’t. Except I melt when I meet his eyes for a fleeting fragment of a second.

Ever my ally when it counts, Lucas draws attention away from me. He kicks at something on the side of the island he shares with Taemin. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “Is this your suitcase, Taemin? Planning to go somewhere?”

Finally, I can breathe. Taemin breaks his study of me to look at Lucas as he nods. “Yeah, that’s mine.” He steals my breath again when his eyes flicker between me and Mom with the question, “Is it okay if I take my things upstairs?”

Lucas stares at me with wide eyes. His mouth falls open. He wants to scream something like, **_“WHEN DID YOU PLAN TO TELL ME THAT WE ARE OFFICIALLY ACQUIRING A TAEMIN?”_** But he heeds my silent plea to, you know, not scream, so he bites down on his lips.

Of course, I had already uncovered Taemin’s plan to move in. I accepted it. More than that, I had been anticipating it. I had been dreaming about it— not that I ever would have divulged such a secret. However, I do not know how or even if he has gotten Mom’s permission.

She smiles when Taemin, Lucas, and I look to her for a response. It’s a genuine smile; the kind that etches faint dimples into her cheeks and lights her entire face. “Make yourself at home, Taemin!”

Mom’s lack of protest should be stunning, but it isn’t. She is the same woman who invited Lucas into our house for Christmas five years ago and allowed him to turn a guest room into his personal bedroom. She is the same woman who allowed Lucas to sleep under our roof after she started to suspect that we were dating. As a mother figure, Mom spoils Lucas rotten. As a manager, though, Mom has always set boundaries with him.

With Taemin— well, not even Mom is immune to his charms. She allowed him to share a room with me throughout the American tour. If (when) he asks, she will probably allow him to share a room with me throughout the European tour. Because she was so lax as a manager, it only makes sense that she should open the door to our home for him, too.

I think Mom has a superpower. She knows from a glance who to lock outside. She knows from a glance who to welcome with open arms and a smile. I’m glad that she uses that power to protect me. More than that, though, I am glad that she uses that power to nudge me toward happiness.

Emboldened by Mom’s grin, Taemin rounds the island. Smiling at me with his eyes and his lips, he catches me around the waist. His hands are so soft, so warm. Exactly what you would expect his touch to feel like. Heaven on earth. The kind of touch that pieced together a shattered flower in the garden.

Taemin’s smile pecks delicately at my forehead, right on the spot Lucas made red. It doesn’t hurt anymore. “I brought some food if you’re hungry.” 

Then, before I can thank him, Taemin’s smile pecks at my lips. Right in front of Mom and Lucas, who probably watch this scene from my notebook breathing and alive before their eyes. Taemin whispers, “I’ll be unpacking if you need me, baby.”

Before I can decide whether I enjoy melting into his touch with an audience, Taemin releases me from his embrace. He walks to the stairs and ascends, carrying his suitcase, and my breath, and my heart with him. My heart— he has been holding it carefully, mindfully, gracefully, and I— I just hope I haven’t been too careless with his.

As I watch Taemin until he fades from view, I resolve to be more careful. No— careful is the last thing I need to be. I should try to love him more openly. Fearlessly. I want to give him the love that he has given to me; I want to give him the love he has dreamed about.

Dreaming about the future, dreaming about right now, my legs turn to jelly. I lean into the island for stability and look from Mom to Lucas, wondering what they are thinking.

Do they think that Taemin is settling into my world too quickly? Would they believe me if I told them that Taemin and I have been together in lifetimes past? Would they consider me a fool, a stranger, for believing in something like that? Do they think that I am a fool for wanting this life— for wanting Taemin— so badly?

I wish I didn’t care. I wish my mind wouldn’t twist into these labyrinths that I have only recently learned to navigate through with pen and paper. More than anything, I wish I could be like Taemin: too devoted to the idea of destiny to search for outside approval.

Soon, I tell myself, I will be confident on my own. For now, I take comfort in the smile Mom gives to the ceiling because she knows I will burst into flames with eye contact. For now, I am empowered by the smirk Lucas throws my way before he bites into a hamburger.

Nobody objects to Taemin’s presence. My Taemin. And it’s because it is there on his wrist for anybody to see: we are meant to be.

  


## 3\. Waiting

I assumed that Taemin would claim the guest room across from my bedroom, but I gather that he isn’t there as soon as I fill the doorway. The guest room is empty, dark, untouched. Afternoon sunlight faintly breaks through the thick black curtains lining the window.

This room doesn’t suit Taemin, I realize as I eye the black blanket and the black nightside lamp atop a black nightstand. Everything in his room at the SuperM house had been unearthly white. His room was like a castle in the clouds. He would never gravitate toward such a dark place where the light barely gets in.

His laughter trickles into the hallway and carries the sun into this dark corner of the house. Following the rays, tracing that melody, I find Taemin on my bed, wrapped in a cocoon made of my quilt. Chewing through a chocolate chip cookie, he reads my book by the light leaking in through my curtains, which have been drawn since his most recent departure.

Something about the scene makes my heart leap. It’s the realization that he is here with me, in my space, laughing because of something I wrote.

“Taemin!” I greet him with a whine as I close the door.

Like he is embarrassed that I have caught him sneaking glances at the story we promised to read together, Taemin gasps. He closes the book and tucks it under his pillow. After stuffing the small remaining bit of gooey chocolate into his mouth, he licks his fingers clean and folds his hands behind his head.

“Lei!” He smiles up at me.

Sighing, unable to fight the smile from my face, I flick the lightswitch. I walk to the bed, squinting to assess the mess he has made on my sheets with his dessert. “You got crumbs everywhere,” I fuss as I swipe those I can see into a pile on the floor.

Taemin wraps his hand around my wrist. He knows his faintest, briefest touch will inspire me to stare into his eyes where the stars have gathered. Sometimes, this is scary: finding myself in him. Always, this is breath-taking. Always, this is beautiful.

He is still smiling. Almost always smiling. Never affected by scolding. Well, never affected by my scolding. He trembled at the mere imagination of Mom’s disapproval. Maybe I should threaten to tell her about his messy eating habits, but I won’t. I don’t believe much in making empty threats. No matter how Taemin should annoy me, maybe even if he managed to break my heart into a million bloody pieces, I would probably never tell Mom. I have never been a tattle-tale.

To tempt me into bed with him, Taemin tugs on my wrist. When I resist the pull, he pouts to tempt me to kiss him. “I was gonna clean after myself!”

My eyebrows arches skeptically, so Taemin insists at a shrill pitch, “I was! I am! Just not now.” The ribbon tickles my skin as he laces our fingers together. “Now, I want to hold you.”

Subtly, I nod to the window. In a voice that is not quite mine— it is too quiet— I say, “It’s not time for you to hold me.

I don’t know why I said that. I can’t understand why my voice can betray my deepest desires when I **_want_** to lay with him, I **_want_** to be held by him, I **_want_** to kiss him, I ** _want_** to melt into a more perfect being with him, I **_want_** to write another moment with him.

Remembering my promise to become his dream come true, to slowly grow into the person I have always wanted to be, I take the first step. Again, I break the habit of resisting— resisting the fulfillment of my hopes because I have too long feared the fall. Before Taemin can argue, before his eyes can narrow in wounded disappointment, before the newest bruise I might have carelessly inflicted on his heart can scar, I bend to catch his pouting lips in a kiss.

He tastes like chocolate. I heard once that chocolate makes people feel a little happier, so I waste no more time battling the urge, the dire need to kiss his lips again and again. Harder this time, softer next time, deeper this time, shallow next time. I kiss him every way I know how, every way I have ever imagined, and still, there must be more ways to discover.

Taemin tries to hold me against him. He tries to pull me into him, and it’s so hard to resist. I do not want to resist, and this time there is no champagne to share in the blame. There is only him. There is only me. There is only the need to blur that distance, that difference, until there is none at all, but I—

There will be another time. There will be a time when Mom isn’t answering calls in her office downstairs. There will be a time when Lucas isn’t roaming the halls or watching SpongeBob on the living room television or playing video games in his room down the hall. There will be a time when I am not filling some internal void with this physical expression of love. There will be a time when I am not wearing a set of pajamas donning my favorite infant cartoon characters.

When I break from the kiss for a breath, I bring both of my hands to tug down at the hem of my shirt. No matter how hard I tug, no matter how much I plead, I remain exposed. Why, then, do I keep begging? Why do I waste my energy by pleading for such an unnecessary miracle?

Taemin doesn’t understand either. He sits upright and, frowning, reaches for my hands. “Why do you keep doing that?” His brow furrows as he presses kisses to my knuckles. Then, he drops my hands around his shoulders. While I trace the threading in my old gray hoodie, wondering if and how I will ever make it mine again (if I even want to), Taemin says, “You look adorable, you know. Mom said so too.”

I crinkle my nose, and Taemin cries, “It’s true! It’s cute that the tiniest little bit of your tummy is showing! It’s nothing to hide, baby, especially not from me.”

I am blushing too deeply to meet his gaze. Numbly, I ask, “Especially not from you? What does that mean?”

“I mean that there is nothing that you should hide from me.” He smiles to comfort me, I think, and not to tease me. “Besides, this—” his fingers brush against the skin exposed beneath my shirt and spark a fire in my gut. I recoil from the flame, giggling. Only fools giggle at fire. “This is nothing I haven’t seen before.” Taemin winks.

My face flushes at the reminder of the New Year’s strip Rock-Paper-Scissors game. Never— never will we forget. Never will Taemin let us forget. He’s such a brat. I roll my eyes and grumble, “Really, Taemin—”

“We don’t regret it,” he reminds me softly, pressing a kiss to the bend of my elbow, “because there is nothing to regret. We were born to find each other. We were born to see each other. Don’t hide. Don’t hide from me.”

Shivering at the frequently recurring realization that I don’t **_want_** to hide, I never **_wanted_** to hide— I just thought I **_needed_** to hide— I nod. I try to bite through my smile, but I can’t. I can’t contain my happiness. “I know, Taemin. The thing is, I can’t kiss you with baby Dil Pickles watching!” I point to the character on my shirt, and Taemin throws his head back laughing.

His eyes are beautiful crescents when he beams at me. “Fine, baby.” He nudges me toward the closet. “Hurry and change. I’ll be waiting!”

## 4\. It’s You

From the floor of my closet, a pile of clothes greets me, and I respond with a gasp. I am not especially attached to my clothes. By no means do I call myself a fashionista. It’s just, everything in my room has a specific place.

Lucas calls my insistence on maintaining order in this one corner of the universe that is mine “compulsive control.” I call it “organization,” and, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it matters much what Lucas says in this instance. Everything is organized in the most efficient manner and, seeing as this is ** _my_** space, everyone should take my word for it and **_not_** move my stuff.

The culprit is obvious. Taemin has left my clothes, a bundle of dresses reserved for red carpet events, at the foot of a life-size Taeyeon poster. Replacing my dresses on their rack are Taemin’s clothes— an unorganized assortment of plain black and white t-shirts.

It’s amazing how quickly I roll the hearts out of my eyes. After stepping into a pair of pink sweatpants and pulling one of Taemin’s shirts over my head, I call his name. I try (and fail) to bite the annoyance out of my voice by digging into my bottom lip.

Perhaps picking up on my tone, Taemin does not run to my side. He is probably sneaking more glances at our story as he responds from my bed, “What, baby?”

His voice is sickeningly sweet. Artificially sweet. He ** _knows_** that he has done wrong, but he does not apologize.

His sweetness melts into something much more bitter when I say, “Come here!”

Huffing, Taemin fills the doorway wearing a frown. His arms cross tightly over his chest. His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

I was annoyed enough by his lack of consideration for my clothes— the nicest ones, I might add— before he started pouting like a spoiled child, like I had done something wrong. Narrowing my eyes, I demand, “What are **_you_** so upset about?”

“I remember this part.” Taemin stares down at his feet. “This is the part where we have our first real fight, and I don’t want to do it.”

My scowl softens at the reminder that Taemin lives with the traces of our past lives together. That confusion of navigating through timelines— the blurring of the past and present— must be a curse in some ways. Maybe it’s a worse curse than the perpetual fear of the future that has always haunted me. In some ways, I guess, I’m glad that I don’t have any memories of past lives. In some ways, I guess, I’m glad that Taemin is here to lead me.

After beckoning Taemin to my side, I let my fingertips brush against his hand to prove that I’m not angry— at least not permanently. I allow my touch to linger to demonstrate that I don’t want to fight either. I just want to understand: “If you knew that this would result in a fight, then why did you throw my dresses on the floor?”

Staring down at the pile he made, Taemin shrugs. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

His pout makes my heart feel heavy. I have every right to reprimand his carelessness, but I can’t do it when he looks so pitiful. I don’t want to do it. I love him too much. I only want to see him smile. I have always been like this: incapable of frowning at those I love for long. Some might consider this sort of pacifism passivity— a weakness— but I don’t. I just want peace. I just want happiness.

“Don’t say such things about yourself,” I say with a gentle authority that reminds me of Mom. Forcing my attention away from Taemin, I start to pluck his shirts from the rack, explaining, “You would have much more space for your things in the closet across the hall, you know. Here. I’ll help you move—”

“I don’t want to move!” Taemin’s entire body stiffens as he argues. His face pales. “I want to be with you!”

“You are. You will be, forever.” I rise to the tips of my toes to press the promise to his lips. “Like you promised, we will sleep together every night. It’s just— you need space—”

The color returns to Taemin’s face as a deep, unnatural maroon. Skin should never turn that color. “I don’t need space! I don’t want space!” His voice trembles and shakes the entire house.

“Closet space, Taemin.” I sigh at his undue panic— his determination to misunderstand me.

This headache forming around my temples— does it visit him when I am rattled by the slightest breeze? I hope not. The mere imagination that it does gives me all the more reason to find my footing.

“I’m talking about closet space. And if you don’t need that—”

Looking very much like a child as his hands form fists at his sides, Taemin swears, “I don’t!”

“Then I do.” By now, all of his shirts are draped over my arms. By now, anyone who wasn’t as deeply in love as I am might have lost their temper.

“This closet is **_way_** bigger than the other one though! This closet is the size of a store!” The stomping of Taemin’s foot drills into my brain that his fixation on my closet has little to do with his attachment to me. He is being materialistic. And I don’t like that.

“Materialistic?” Taemin parrots as he follows me on my march into the guest room. After he slams the door shut, his arm hooks around my waist and whirls me around so that my face nearly collides with his chest. Most of his shirts fall from my arms onto the floor.

The furrowing of his eyebrows should be an intimidating sign of anger, maybe, but I can only think that he looks cute. Like a little boy. I can only think that he isn’t that much taller than me. He isn’t that much bigger than me. He probably isn’t that much stronger than me.

Rationally, it is decided: I am not afraid of Taemin. Should his grip around me tighten painfully, should the warm flame in his eyes turn scalding— and I do not expect them to— I could (and would) flatten him.

Once I decide that I am not afraid, I realize that I am amused. Everything about this seems unreal and almost comical, like his Na Jaemin induced fit of jealousy. All at once, I want to laugh, and I have to bite down on my lips to maintain my composure.

“I didn’t say that,” I assert. I am not confrontational or combative, but I do not like to shrink below sharpened stares. “You’re using your soulmate mind-reading powers, which, by the way, is a very unfair tactic. You would learn to control that.”

Taemin blinks at me. I wink at him. And I catch the faintest outline of a smile before his face hardens. He is play fighting now, I realize, and as butterflies swarm across my stomach I agree with what he once said; it is an exciting way to flirt.

“So you—” he almost smiles again— “you were just **_thinking_** that I am materialistic?”

Although I say nothing to confirm or deny that— why would I say anything to insult Taemin?— his subsequent outburst could convince anybody that I sincerely called him a selfish bastard or something. After scooping his shirts off of the floor and snatching those remaining in my arms, he storms over to the window. Forcing the curtains apart, he asks, “Would a materialistic person do **_this_**?”

“Do what?” I challenge, raising my eyebrows. “Play with the curtain?”

Taemin drops his shirts onto the foot of the bed. He grabs one, forms it into a ball, and hurls it out the open window.

Objectively, it probably isn’t that funny, but I laugh so hard that my knees go weak. Luckily, the bed catches me, and I can muffle my laughter with a pillow.

“Get your face out of that pillow and look at me!” Taemin loses his battle against laughter too. By the time I look at him, though, he has forced his face into a scowl as he tosses another shirt. “I’m proving to you that I don’t need expensive clothes to be happy! I don’t need a big closet or a fancy bedroom! I had those things at the SuperM house, and I easily, happily, left them behind for what I **_do_** need.”

I almost roll my eyes. Taemin is the cheesiest person alive sometimes, but I like that. He is a drama queen all the time, but I like that too. I like everything about him— even (and maybe especially) what might seem like flaws to others. His episodes are ultimately harmless. They inspire that side-splitting sort of laughter that paints my world anew with colors I never knew existed.

“Oh yeah?” Swallowing my giggles, I try to train my smile into an apathetic line. I can’t do it. I am losing this skill that I spent so many years developing, this habit that I once swore was integral to survival. Is that a shame? Or is that a blessing?

A blessing, I decide. How many smiles have I killed in these last several years? Far too many to count. Far too many to mourn. I never again want to subdue my happiness.

“And what ** _do_** you need, Taemin?”

Before Taemin can answer, a voice outside— Heechul’s voice— shrieks, “STOP THROWING SHIT OUT THIS WINDOW!”

Faintly, I hear Mom retort, “Leave those kids alone, Heechul, and get back over here! You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“These are men’s shirts!” Heechul must look up into the window; suddenly, Taemin hurls himself onto the bed, almost landing on me with a force that would leave me gasping. “You just let the boys in this house do whatever the hell they want, Kim! Except me, of course. I have to obey a billion rules and jump through a trillion hoops, and even then I’m still…”

As Heechul’s voice trails off, Taemin exhales loudly. He must have been holding his breath. “I guess they’re working through their issues. Heechul is helping Mom and Lucas clean the pool. We should probably go out there tonight and make good use of it, huh?”

Taemin curls into my side and wraps an arm around my waist. Always, he gets what he wants. He really has charmed the universe.

Because he has charmed me too, I do not shy away from his touch. “It’s freezing outside, Taem. You’ll be hard pressed to find me in a bathing suit in the peak of summer, much less in the darkest depths of winter.”

“I’m sure there is some setting to warm the water, Lei. We wouldn’t have to freeze.”

Taemin is right, but I don’t tell him so. Rather than floating adrift in blissful silence, Taemin wonders, “What’s your problem with bathing suits? You didn’t wear one and get into the pool on tour either.”

I joke, “I prefer to keep my belly button hidden from the world.” It’s funny, considering how many crop tops I have worn during promotions.

“You don’t have to show it.” Taemin presses his finger on my shirt, indicating my belly button. He draws shapes— he spells his name, I think— over my stomach. “You could wear one of those pretty one-piece suits. Or you could wear my shirt— this one, maybe. You look especially pretty in my clothes.”

My cheeks burn as I thank him for the compliment. Carding my fingers through his hair, I ask, “Do you wanna hear about the last time I got into the pool?”

Taemin nods, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.

“When I turned eighteen, Soo and Minseokie— Kyungsoo and Minseok, I mean— threw a huge party. They invited everyone in NCT 127 plus Ten, so—” my lips curl into a smile as I tease— “you can relax, Taem. Jaemin wasn’t there.”

Taemin’s snort of a laugh tickles my neck. “Oh, great. That means I only have to be jealous that Ten, Taeyong, Mark, Lucas, and Baekhyun— Baekhyun, of all people!— have seen my beautiful girlfriend in a soaked bikini top!”

Almost— I almost point out that the bikini top is much less scandalous than the undergarments he saw on New Years Eve— but I decide against it at the last second. I gasp, “How do you know about that?”

“They’ve mentioned it!” Taemin lifts his head to show me how his eyes roll. “By ‘they,’ I mostly mean Ten. He thought it was funny enough when Johnny pulled you into the pool fully clothed. He thought it was funnier when Baekhyun yelled, ‘Take it off, Lei!’ or whatever he said.”

The memory makes me squirm. “Gee, well, I’m glad Ten remembers it fondly. Since I survived that incident, I’ve realized that it’s impossible to die from embarrassment.”

“If it’s any consolation, everyone agreed that you looked amazing,” Taemin says. It’s not a consolation at all; I squirm more. “And then Jongin told them to stop spreading inappropriate stories about our newest member.”

Finally, I crack the smallest smile. “Sometimes, it seems like Jongin is the only one truly on my side!” My dramatic whine elicits reluctant laughter from Taemin.

He wants to remind me that Jongin’s loyalty had been hard won, but he doesn’t say so plainly. “I was on your side first,” he hums as he drops a kiss on my collarbone. “I’ll be on your side forever.”

Raising my pinky, I repeat, “Forever.” This word that once sounded foreign in my voice, this word that was once too big to fit into my mouth is now all I can say when I look at Taemin.

Smiling, he links his smallest finger with mine. We stay intertwined like this for a while. Forever, maybe. We exist comfortably in silence. We aren’t even kissing. We are just laying together in a pinky promise, shrouded by the realization that there is nowhere we would rather be. There is nowhere else to be.

Taemin fills the silence. “Can I ask you a question?” When I nod, he asks, “Why do you have a giant poster of Key in your closet?”

Blushing slightly, I explain, “Key is one of my fashion icons. He’s the main one, actually. By his poster, I hang all of my eclectic, experimental clothes— the ones I’m not brave enough to wear yet. By Taeyeon, I hang all of my pretty clothes— formal wear, mostly. Then, by Amber’s, I hang all of the sporty stuff.”

“Why am I not a fashion icon?” Taemin’s bottom lip forms a pout, and I have to kiss him. I have to. I can’t let these opportunities pass.

I mutter, “Obviously you didn’t look under the bed,” burning at the thought that Taemin will likely (definitely) discover the extent to which I idolized him as a child. I will have to hide his photocards some place he will never find them.

At that, Taemin sparkles. “What?”

To derail him, to delay the inevitable, I say, “If you looked under my bed, you would have found my Key photocards. Then, you wouldn’t have to wonder why he’s my sole male fashion icon.”

Taemin’s lips purse like he has chewed through a lemon. I have seen that face only once, lifetimes ago, on that morning after I gave him my ribbon. “Well, you wouldn’t like Key very much at all if I told you that he beat my ass in a closet once. If you knew that, you might understand the dread that washed over me when that poster looked me in the eyes! You’d probably take it down!”

Instantly, I retort, “I would do no such thing!” and Taemin huffs. “Why did he beat you in a closet, anyway? What did you do?”

Taemin blinks harshly. His eyes burn into me. “I didn’t do anything!”

I find that hard to believe. Not that Key disciplined Taemin, but that Taemin had done nothing to deserve it. Regardless, Taemin will confess to no wrongdoing, so I quietly resolve to consult Key later. For now, I pack my curiosity away and kiss Taemin’s cheek.

“Now you’re gonna play sweet?” Taemin raises his eyebrows.

“It’s now or never.” I raise my eyebrows too. “Take it or leave it.”

Drawing a deep breath to expel his sudden and unwarranted surge of jealousy toward Key— Key, who I have met only a handful of times— Key, who only knows me from those days of following Amber— Taemin fits his lips with mine.

The kiss seems to remind Taemin that I love him as someone different, someone more than an idol. When he parts from my lips to kiss my cheeks, forehead, neck, and every exposed inch of skin, he smiles.

“It’s you, by the way,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm, but it makes me shiver. “You are who I need. Or want. Or crave. More than expensive clothes or fancy bedrooms or big closets. More than anything, Lei. My Lei.”

Once upon a time, I didn’t know how to respond to his sudden declarations of love. I didn’t trust myself to speak. But now— now I couldn’t bite back the words on my tongue if I tried.

“It’s you,” I breathe past his lips. “You are who redeems broken flowers. You are the only person in the world who can pluck the moon from the sky, and you placed it in my clumsy baby hands—”

Taemin interrupts so quietly that I shouldn’t hear him whispering, “You speak so beautifully. Write it down. Write it down so I don’t forget, please. Write it down so I can’t forget.”

Needless to say, I will do as he asks— whatever he asks— after I express out loud, “You make me fall in love a million times a day, Taemin. My Taemin.”

## 5\. Everything Has Changed (Lucas’s POV)

Life is different now that Taemin lives here. I’m not sure how much I like it.

I like the way Taemin looks at Lei. It’s the way he’s always looked at her. He squints to make out her features because he knows that she is the sun. I like the way she melts into his embrace. For the first time since we met, she seems to forget (at least for a second, which is sometimes as good as forever) that someone is always watching. I like the feeling that we are living in the happy ending of Lei’s book.

Lei is happy— smiling. So I am happy— smiling.

I wanna say that I don’t like how Taemin kisses Lei right in front of me and Mom, her family. I wanna say that affection should be displayed privately. That’s what Lei always said. But I can’t say that. I’ve never believed that. Not when Lei first said it, and not now.

I definitely don’t like how Mom’s eyes sparkle when she looks at Taemin. I don’t like how I have to raise my voice to get her attention. Her attention used to come for free. Now, it fades when I blink my eyes. Now, when I open my eyes, she is looking at Taemin.

And I don’t like how cold it is in Taemin’s shadow. I don’t wanna live here. And I hate how jealousy ties my stomach in knots. I’ve never been jealous before. I don’t wanna feel like this.

I don’t like that my smile hurts my cheeks. It’s too heavy. My smile has never been too heavy before.

I don’t like that there is nobody to share these twisting dizzying feelings with. There is nobody to make sense of them after Lei gulps down lunch and runs upstairs to him, leaving me alone with SpongeBob.

I don’t like how eager I am to get out of the house once I think about Lei and Taemin cuddling and kissing and falling forever in love in **_my_** home. It’s not that I don’t support them. It’s no that I don’t ship them. I do! I always have! Nobody ships it more than me! It’s just—

I don’t know. I don’t really want to think about my feelings anymore. They’re making my head hurt.

After stepping into my slides, I shuffle past the kitchen and into Mom’s office. Quietly, way too quietly for me, I say, “I’m gonna clean the pool, Mom.” 

When she looks up from her computer, Mom sees that I’m not entirely happy. That must scare her. I’m almost always entirely happy. She sets her phone down on her desk. “Okay, honey.” She stands, and I smile because she has dropped a call for me. Maybe things haven’t changed that much. “Let’s go!”

Cleaning the pool is a weekly chore. Usually, Heechul and Lei help too. Heechul sits on a sun chair and supervises while sipping boba tea. Lei brings her BlueTooth speaker and plays music for us. Mostly SHINee. She’s a good DJ.

This time, though, it’s just me and Mom because Heechul was kicked out for fighting with Donghae and Lei is writing more memories with Taemin. And I miss them.

All of a sudden, I feel so sad that I can’t really say anything as I do my chores. Can’t really say anything unless I wanna spoil the happy ending. I don’t. Lei deserves it. She has worked so hard for it. Can’t really say anything unless I wanna ask Mom if I’m still her favorite son. And I’m not sure I do. I’m not sure I wanna hear the answer.

I’m kinda relieved when Mom leaves to answer the ringing doorbell. It gives me a chance to wipe at my eyes and catch my breath. I’m really relieved when she returns with Heechul following close behind.

Smiling, I wave with both hands. “Hey, Heechul!”

And Heechul waves back at me with the hand that isn’t holding his boba tea. The world seems normal for a second when he rolls his eyes. “And where the hell is the girl? Doesn’t Lei know that, as a member of this family, she has to help out around here?”

This family. My family. We’re intact. Yay!

Mom returns to my side to help fish leaves out of the water. “Lei is busy, Heechul, so don’t go looking for her.”

Mom doesn’t mention Taemin at first, probably because she knows that Heechul will flip his shit. He’s insanely protective of Lei, and I don’t think he even knows that she’s dating Taemin yet. He won’t like another boy moving in, especially not right after he (and Donghae) was just evicted.

So I bite down on my tongue, determined not to say anything about Taemin either. I kept the secret from Mom long enough, so I know I can keep it forever. The only problem is: Taemin starts throwing his shirts out the window like an idiot or something.

I watch, slackjawed, because I never knew Taemin would do something like that. Yeah, Lei mentioned that weird tantrum about Jaemin, but I thought she was just hyping it up for the story. I should’ve known better. If anything, Lei tries to downplay everything.

Heechul murmurs exactly what I’m thinking: “What the hell?”

And he runs to the window and screams, “STOP THROWING SHIT OUT THIS WINDOW!”

And I’m scared for Lei, but I kinda want Taemin to get in trouble.

Taemin doesn’t get in trouble, of course. When Mom yells for Heechul to come back to help us, he scoops one of the shirts off of the ground. Taemin’s Mom must write his name on his shirt tags too.

Squinting at the tag, Heechul reads, “Taemin,” in an awestruck sort of voice. Weirdly quiet. Too quiet for him. His wide eyes burn into Mom. “Taemin is staying in your guest room? And he’s throwing shirts out the window?”

The guest room? My forehead wrinkles. I would’ve sworn that Taemin would try to hang his stuff up in Lei’s room. I think he’s forgotten how to live without her.

Mom focuses intently on the water. The tips of her ears burn red, but she has an amazing poker face. We should go to the casino some time. With my brain and her poker face, we could be billionaires!

“Taemin will be living here from now on.” She talks in that calm, even voice that I usually only hear at the studio. “Considering Lei’s cleanly nature and Taemin’s reported propensity for— er— passionate fits, I would assume that he is the one throwing his clothes around.”

“Taemin moved in? Permanently?” Heechul’s jaw drops. He doesn’t even sound angry like I expected. He just sounds surprised. Almost starstruck.

Am I relieved? Or annoyed?

Mom nods, so Heechul asks, “Why?”

I expect Mom to answer again in her manager voice, but she doesn’t. Smiling and swaying so suddenly that I think she’s gonna fall face-first into the pool, Mom says, “They’re in love!”

“Who?” Heechul bellows.

Can Lei and Taemin hear Heechul from the guest room? Or is even Heechul not loud enough to shatter their happy ending?

Heechul demands to know: “Who’s in love?”

And I can’t bite my tongue for another minute. I cheer, “Lei and Taemin!”

Man, I know I’m feeling too much at once. I know I’m on a roller coaster of emotions and it’s hard to tell if I’m going up or speeding down, but one thing is clear: Lei and Taemin were meant to be. And I don’t know how many ‘meant-to-be’s get to be, but I’m sure as hell glad that they do.

I don’t know how Heechul can look so stunned by what must be the most obvious love in the whole world. I don’t know how anyone can say that they haven’t noticed Lei’s ribbon around Taemin’s wrist. I haven’t been able to look away from it for months. I don’t think I’ll ever look away from it! It’s like the sun, ya know? Too bright to ignore. Too beautiful to overlook.

Heechul wheezes, “Lei has a boyfriend?”

Mom nods. Her words can’t make it past her smile, so I take it upon myself to correct Heechul. “Lei has a soulmate!”

Heechul blinks at me. “So let me get this straight.” Sitting on the edge of a sun chair, he sets his drink down at his feet. His hand raises to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “On tour, Lei actually fell in love with her ultimate idol? The same boy she used to listen to every single night? And you—” he points at Mom— “not only did you fail to mention this to me, but then you let him move in without consulting me?”

“I don’t have to run everything by you first, Heechul,” Mom says coolly. “First of all, I only recently heard the sweetest love story of all time. Maybe if you didn’t piss me off so bad that I had to kick you out, you would have been around to hear it straight from Lei’s mouth!”

It’s unlikely that Lei would have read the story in front of Heechul, I think, but I guess you never really know. Heechul’s face turns red at Mom’s berating.

“Anyway,” Mom sighs, “who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

“You’re her mother, for one thing.” Heechul’s brow furrows, and my eyes roll. There’s nothing more annoying than when he tries to act more mature than Mom. “You’re his manager AND her manager for another! How are you going to explain this shit to the agency when they have a super idol baby?”

Oh. My. God. Lucas Tue WOULD be a super idol!

At the thought of my future (inevitable) baby nephew, I drop my cleaning equipment and clap my hands. My face hurts from smiling again, but in the best way! I take it all back! Yeah, I want to be Mom’s number one boy, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want Taemin here. I do. I need him here because I want Lucas Tue!

Plus, I’m totally okay with losing my number one spot to Lucas Tue! He’ll be everyone’s favorite!

“Cut that out, boy!” Heechul huffs at me. “We don’t want babies!”

“I do!” I argue with Heechul’s glare. “I want a baby!”

Mom cuts her eyes at Heechul. “Stop looking at Lucas like that! And stop assuming the worst of Lei and Taemin! You know that she’s much smarter and much more responsible than I ever was. If and when she starts expressing her love like _**that**_ , she will be careful. Besides—” Mom smiles. She looks so much like Lei when she smiles. Pretty— “I don’t subscribe to the belief that surprise miracles ruin lives.”

Surprise miracles. That’s what Lei was to Mom, right? I know that’s what Lei was to me. She was my first friend in the agency. I think— no, I know that I’ve never felt lonely because I found her.

Surprise miracles. That’s a kind of funny phrase. Nobody ever expects a miracle, do they? I don’t know.

All I know is that Mom speaks like a poet. All I know is that I’ve never wondered who taught Lei to speak. They’re so much alike, and I love them. I’m glad they found me. I’m glad we’re together. I’m glad we’ll always be together.

As I sit on the ground, I smile up at Mom. The sun breaks through a cloud and makes the winter air a little warmer. “When I drew our family tree the other day, I made a spot for Lei’s future baby! I asked her to name him Lucas Tue, and I told her that we should just call him Tue. And then she said that she would talk it over with Taemin.”

Smiling back, Mom ruffles my hair. “That’s adorable, honey!”

Heechul is less enthusiastic. He doesn’t smile. “They’re already talking about kids? He’s already moved in?” Heechul runs both hands through his hair. “Shit, this is moving too fast for me. Just yesterday, the girl was saying that she would never date!”

Grinning because Lei had grown past the word 'never,’ I explain, “She only said that because she hadn’t met Taemin yet. If you think about it, they’re not moving that fast; they’re just making up for lost time.”

  


At dinner, right after Mom shoves Heechul out the door, I announce, “Mom! Since today’s special because Taemin moved in, I’m gonna drink my last beer!”

Mom gives me two thumbs up from the doorway connecting the dining room to the kitchen. So I open the fridge with a smile. But I don’t find my beer in the fridge. I find it at the table. Open. In front of Taemin, who holds a giggling Lei in his lap.

Just like that, I don’t like him much anymore. I don’t **_really_** care that Lei is in his lap; I just think it’s a little tasteless that he presses a lingering sort of kiss to the shell of Lei’s ear right in front of Mom. I think it’s a little weird that Lei just lets him. But all I REALLY care about is my beer gone to waste and Mom’s total lack of sympathy.

“That’s mine!” I yell when Taemin reaches for the bottle, bringing it up to his lips that are swollen and red from kissing Lei all day. “I was saving that beer! I was looking forward to it the whole time we were on tour!”

Lei’s blinking tells me that I should be embarrassed. I am, kinda. A little bit. I never lose my temper. It’s just— those drinks are special to me! Mom orders them because she knows they’re my favorite in the whole world. And now Taemin has stolen the last one! And there’s no way he’s enjoying it as much as I would!

“Sit down, honey,” Mom tells me, “and I’ll pour you some wine.”

 ** _“I don’t want wine!”_** I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to talk back to Mom. I don’t want her to glare at me like she glared at Donghae and Heechul before locking them out, so I just grit my teeth and obey. Life is so unfair sometimes.

“I’ll take the wine,” Taemin says softly. His voice doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound natural. How can he turn heads with the quietest whisper when I have to yell?

He gives Mom this eerily perfect, almost inhuman smile before holding the beer out to me. “Here. I only took one or two sips. Take the rest.”

Call me a germaphobe if you want, but I’m not big on drinking after people— especially not people who have spent the day swapping spit with my (figurative) sister. I glare at the beer because I can’t glare directly at Taemin. I know this politeness is an act, a scheme to get Mom to like him better. He’s fake!

Lei thinks so too, judging by the look she casts over his shoulder as I cry, “I don’t want anything you’ve put your lips all over! That’s disgusting!”

Lei makes me sick. She says something cringy like, “I don’t think your lips are disgusting Taem!” before kissing his pout.

I scream in disgust, but the kiss is brief. Cute. It makes something inside of me scream in joy. But that joy loses to the rage that burns in my gut when Mom smiles at their display. Joy dies when Mom ruffles my hair and sets the glass of wine before me, saying, “Share with Taemin, Lucas.”

My face burns. **_Share?_** Mom has never told me to share before!

“Share,” I hiss. The word is too foreign. I don’t like how it sounds; especially not in Mom’s voice, and especially not in my voice. I stab into a piece of beef in my bowl. “What haven’t I shared with Taemin lately? I share my best friend, I share my house, I share my Mom, I share my beer—”

“Lucas,” Mom says in that warning tone that she usually reserves for work as she eases into the seat beside me— the seat across from Lei and Taemin. She raises a single eyebrow at me. “Behave.”

My eyes widen. **_Behave?_** Mom never tells me to behave at home!

This stupid little smile spreads across Taemin’s face when our eyes meet. That smile convinces me that I can’t stand him. We are enemies. Obviously, I like him as an artist. I like him as Lei’s soulmate. But I don’t like him as my brother. I hate him as my brother.

I swear, he winks at me as he gulps a mouthful of my beer. And if Mom wasn’t watching, if I wasn’t afraid of hitting Lei (and then getting my ass kicked), I would throw my chopstick at his head.

Sweetly, Mom asks Taemin, “Have you had a good day? Are you comfortable in the guest room?”

When somebody asks questions like that, you’re supposed to say 'Yes and yes. Thank you, ma'am!’ Apparently, nobody ever taught Taemin that.

Resting his chin on Lei’s shoulder, he says, “I had the best day, but I think I would be a lot more comfortable if my closet was like Lei’s.”

Lei rolls her eyes as she swallows a mouthful of salad. “Taemin, we’ve talked about your closet fixation. You said you didn’t need—”

It’s clear that Taemin was joking from the less polite, less eerily perfect smile twisting his lips as Lei scolds him. Mom doesn’t seem to pick up on that, though. She argues, “Of course he needs a big closet, Lei! He’s a pop star! If he’s going to stay here, we’ll have to renovate the closet to meet his needs.”

A closet renovation? I’ve never had one of those! I mean, I’ve never asked, but still! Taemin gets his wish granted just because he made some stupid joke!

“Taemin—” he beams when Mom says his name— “I’ll make some calls tomorrow. You’ll have to room with Lucas or Lei during construction.”

I give him this look that screams, **_“You’re not rooming with me, butthead!”_** but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy smiling at Mom and then laughing at the rolling of Lei’s eyes to notice that he’s made me lose my appetite. Maybe he wouldn’t care anyway.

…

Lei finishes eating first. She pecks Taemin’s forehead before excusing herself to her room. She has never stuck around at the table after finishing her meals, and I guess Taemin’s presence doesn’t inspire her to change that habit.

I lost my appetite during the closet renovation chat, but I refuse to leave Taemin alone with Mom. It’s obvious that if I give him the slightest edge in our competition, he’ll win.

In the end, Mom sends us upstairs together, despite Taemin’s offer (which prompts my offer) to help with the dishes. So we see the sign pinned to Lei’s door at the top of the stairs at the same time. Glittery pink letters scream, **_“Keep Out!”_**

Taemin glances at the sign before he reaches for the doorknob. Maybe he can’t read English that well. Or maybe he can’t read cursive. Or maybe he’s never been on the receiving end of a 'Keep Out’ sign. But I can, I can, and I have. So I ask, “What are you doing?”

Over his shoulder, Taemin glances at me. His hand is still around the doorknob. “I’m going to bed. Lei and I promised to sleep together every night.”

I already knew all about their sleeping arrangement, but I didn’t expect Taemin to mention it so plainly. So matter-of-factly, with only the faintest traces of a smile around his lips. It’s weird.

I point at the sign. “It says 'Keep Out.’ It looks like she changed her mind.”

I’m being an asshole, and I don’t like it. I know well that Lei didn’t change her mind about anything, and Taemin should too. He should know that she never makes empty promises; she keeps even the broken ones. He should know that the sign is meant for me, and I’m just— I’m just sad, so I want him to be sad too, even if it’s just for a second.

Man, I’m on my own nerves. I need to sleep this off.

Because I don’t trust myself to open my mouth without saying more bullshit, I brush past him on my way to my room at the end of the hall.

  



	18. Epilogue Part 2

**6\. Daydream**

"I love you," Taemin whispers against my neck, tightening his grip around my waist and pulling me flush with him.

My room— our room— has been dark and quiet for almost an hour now, so he likely assumes that I have fallen asleep. I think I might have been sleeping, but Taemin’s voice is a blinding light that disrupts even the deepest darkness. I can't sleep while it shines, and I will never want to try. Without opening my eyes, I strain to make out every word muffled by my skin, warmed by his touch.

"My Lei, never forget that I love you. Never forget the road that leads to me. Never—"

He gasps, and I fear for a moment that he is crying. Before I can roll over to wipe his tears, he holds me closer and continues speaking in an unwavering voice. "If you see me in a time when our paths do not seem destined to cross, never forget that we will end every day together. Even when we are apart, we're looking at the same sky, counting the same stars, and reaching for the same moon."

My heart is caught somewhere in my throat, making it hard to breathe. What can I possibly say? Nothing.

There is nothing to say, so I lace my fingers through Taemin's to remind him that our paths have crossed and they will never separate; we have proven our love under the same sky; and I will never let go of his hand.

**. . .**

When I awaken, Taemin is sitting at the edge of the bed, tugging a white t-shirt— the one I wore yesterday, I think— over his chest. After wiping the sleep fogging my eyes, I squint to see that he is already wearing sweatpants and a pair of shoes. He is going somewhere before the sun has broken through the curtains or even through the clouds.

I'm too tired to mask the disappointment from my voice, too tired to control or question the tears welling in my eyes as I ask, "Where are you going, Taeminnie?"

My voice makes Taemin jump. Laughing at his overreaction, he bends to kiss my sleep swollen lips. "I tried not to wake you, baby. I meet Jongin at the studio to practice every morning." His voice is softer than ever; his gaze is gentler than ever; my heart beats harder than ever, and I know why.

This morning is the beginning of our forever together; the forever in which I have surrendered to him completely; the forever in which there is no part of me untouched or unchanged by our love.

As he pushes my hair out of my eyes, Taemin doesn't realize that I am falling for him again. He must not feel that I melt into him with every glance. He continues, "Then, this afternoon, I'm going shopping with Mom. The decor in that room across the hall is a little too gloomy for me."

"Do you have to go right now?" My voice sounds tiny, childish, and very much unlike mine. Weirdly, though, I don't feel embarrassed. I don't feel vulnerable or exposed. "Can't we— can't we stay in bed all day like we wanted to on my debut anniversary? Can't you stay with me a little longer?"

Because my eyelids have fluttered shut, and I am adrift in that beautiful place between asleep and awake, I don't see Taemin's reaction to my plea. I hear it; I hear the faint creaking of mattress springs as he lowers himself back by my side. I feel it; I feel the cold winter morning air raising goosebumps on my skin as he lifts the quilt; I feel his warmth as he tucks us in and carefully lays his weight atop me.

I pull him closer and tuck my face into the crook of his neck, seeking to fit with him perfectly. His skin muffles my question: "Will Jongin be upset?"

"No, baby." Taemin trails his fingertips from the tops of my shoulders to my wrists to lace his fingers through mine. "He won't be upset. He'll understand that we want to be together. He knows how much I love you. He knows that I'll do anything you ask."

"Anything?" I wish he could see how I smile around the word.

Taemin releases one of my hands to comb his fingers through my hair. "Anything, my Lei."

My heart swells and thunders. The subtle vibrations of his voice give life to the butterflies in my stomach. As if he doesn't know, I admit, "I'll do anything you ask too."

I daydream about his smile as he says, "Anything?"

"Anything, my Taemin."

"Then kiss me, please," Taemin pleads, tugging slightly on my hair to convince me to look at him. "Kiss me until you fall back to sleep."

"I can't fall asleep kissing you!" I whine, hooking my free hand around his waist, pulling him closer and closer still.

Closing my eyes, I remember it in perfect detail: the first time he laid beside me in that hotel room. It's almost like a dream, now. It's funny, beautiful, romantic, and a little bit tragic that dreams and memories can blur together.

Back then, he said, _**"We can sleep together if you want. What do you think, Lei? Do you think you could sleep like this?"**_

What was it that I didn't get to say? I'll say it now if I can remember.

"I could not sleep like this. Can't you feel how fast my heart is beating?" My eyes open to look at him. His eyes are smiling. Almost always smiling. "You'll kill me."

Taemin chuckles and argues in a whisper, "No, I won't. And no, I can't quite feel how fast your heart is beating." He connects both of his hands behind my upper back and lays his ear over my heart. "Be quiet now. Let me listen."

We are so close, but we have been closer. I love this. I love life like this. Me and my Taemin blending and blurring and melting together.

"Taemin," I breathe, fighting to keep my eyes closed. "You're waking me up."

Taemin lifts his head and strains to kiss my temple. "Well, baby, I've been wide awake for as long as I can remember. If you're asleep and I'm awake, how will we meet in the middle?"

If this is a riddle, I do not know the answer. I’ve never been good at thinking in riddles. I just know that we meet in the middle every time, and I always forget to count the steps.

**7\. My Best Friend**

“I think I liked Taemin better when he was just your bias,” Lucas huffs while I am trying to enjoy my current favorite SHINee song (“Why So Serious?”).

My favorite SHINee song changes about every other week, and I have this (and every other) music video memorized better than my own choreography, but I don’t appreciate the rude interruption.

Without sitting up, mostly because Lucas’s comforter is almost as cloud-soft as Taemin’s had been in the SuperM house, I swat at Lucas’s shoulder exposed through a sleeveless shirt. His arm is as hard as a rock, so my hand throbs after striking him.

“First of all, that’s mean!” I glare as I blow on my aching knuckles. “What was the point of dragging me into your room to watch music videos if you’re gonna talk shit about my bias-turned-boyfriend the whole time?”

This is my first time watching SHINee since falling in love with Taemin because a.) I didn’t have time to watch very much of anything on tour and b.) I couldn’t comfortably fangirl right in front of Taemin once he insisted on holding me through the night. My heart has always pounded at the sight of him, but it’s different now.

Now, when I hear his voice, my stomach flutters with every memory we have made together. Now, a love-colored blush stains my cheeks every time the camera focuses on him, and I almost instinctively look away. Now, I can’t wait for him to walk off the screen and into my arms so I can melt into him a little more. Now, more than ever, the concepts of soulmate and idol have blurred to create this perfect picture of him: my Taemin.

Now, to be frank, Lucas’s uncharacteristically sour attitude is dampening my smile.

Rubbing at his shoulder, Lucas retorts, “You know I’ve never watched SHINee for Taemin! I like looking at Minho!”

Although my eyes roll, I can’t help but laugh. Lucas’s undying love for his own face manifests in a most peculiar idolization of Minho. I can’t bring myself to criticize him, though. Objectively, Minho is shockingly handsome— even more so in person (or so I’ve gathered from the one time I met him).

“Second of all,” I wheeze as Lucas’s weight leans into me yet again, “for the millionth time, get _**off**_ of me!”

Using both hands and both feet, I pin Lucas against the wall. His arms and legs flail; he looks like a cockroach.

“Alright!” Lucas screams, so I release him.

I flinch away from him as a reflex. If Mom were home, she would fly up the stairs to defend Lucas at his faintest whimper. Then, I would be in trouble— grounded at 21 years old— all because Mom babies Lucas too much.

Lucas shovels a handful of popcorn into his cheeks until they puff out like a chipmunk’s. His voice is muffled when he grumbles, “You don’t tell Lucas to get off of you.”

“That’s it!” I reach for the remote at the foot of the bed, pause the video, and round on Lucas. “What’s your sudden problem with Taemin? I know you’re not jealous because I let him cuddle with me, so don’t try to pull any funny business. I know you’re upset that he drank your last beer—”

Lucas’s face goes red with rage at the reminder of Taemin’s dinner-time offense. “He didn’t even finish it!”

I shake my head at his pettiness. Maybe I’m missing something because I’ve never liked beer. “But you _**know**_ Mom’s gonna buy more for you! You know she probably already has a new shipment on the way!”

Lucas’s frown deepens, and I try to continue in a softer voice. Lucas has always been so patient with me; repaying that patience now is the least I can do. “I get that Taemin’s moving in is a big change. It’s going to take some time for all of us to get used to. And believe me— I know it’s annoying that he helps himself to whatever he wants—”

“You got that right,” Lucas mumbles through pouting lips.

“— but that’s no excuse to be mean to him,” I say quietly. “Do you think I want to hear you talk negatively about him? Because if you do—”

My voice breaks as Lucas sits upright to rub at his eyes. Dread, originating as a sharp pang in my gut, washes over me. “Are you— are you crying?”

“It’s not about the beer.” He hugs his knees to his chest, shaking his head. “It’s not about the beer, Lei.”

Guilt is not a strong enough word to describe whatever emotion threatens to tear me apart. Nothing— nothing is worse than when Lucas is sad. Nothing is worse than knowing that somehow, accidentally, in chasing my own happiness, I have hurt my best friend, my brother.

“Well, Lucas,” I mirror his pout as I pat his arm comfortingly, “what is it about?”

His lips tremble before he cries, “I don’t wanna talk about it!” and collapses face-first into a pillow.

If I wasn’t so concerned— if I wasn’t so baffled by his sudden outburst of emotions (as I always am)— I would almost want to laugh at his theatrics. As it is, I tug the black cap from his head and toss it onto the floor so I can card a hand through his hair. This is something Mom used to do when I was upset as a child. The only difference is that she would make me rest my head in her lap; the only difference is that Mom would braid through my hair, and Lucas’s hair is too short to braid.

“We have to talk about it, Lucas.” I tell him what I have learned: “We have to keep our feelings out in the light, otherwise they will metastasize.”

When that doesn’t inspire him to open up, I take the first step forward. Another thing I have learned: taking the first step isn’t that hard when you’re moving toward somebody you love. “I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about Taemin moving in. This is your home too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask about your feelings before he—”

“Dude, Lei.” Lucas rolls onto his back to show me his wrinkled forehead. “Don’t apologize for your happy ending! I’ll be okay! I’ll get past this! It’s just—”

His toothy smile dims as he admits, “I thought I was used to knowing that I’m not the main guy in your life anymore. I thought I accepted it, and I guess I have, kinda. I always knew that you would find Prince Charming and that he wasn’t me. I just— I thought I would always be your best friend.”

“You are my best friend!” I laugh because the idea that anyone could ever take Lucas’s place— even someone that I love as much as Taemin— is the most ridiculous thing I have ever considered. “You’ll always be my best friend! Who else am I gonna tell on the frequent occasion that Taemin tap dances on my last nerve? Who else am I gonna watch SHINee videos with? Who else am I gonna eat popcorn in bed with?”

“You could watch SHINee videos with Taemin,” Lucas claims, picking at a loose thread on his blanket. “You could eat popcorn in bed with Taemin.”

I shake my head so vigorously that I get a bit dizzy. “No, I couldn’t. Taemin talks _**constantly.**_ You know I can’t stand it when anybody interrupts an Onew descant!”

While Lucas laughs, I add, “And I’m never letting Taemin eat in bed with me; he’s the messiest eater alive!” Rolling my eyes, smiling faintly at this most recent memory, I say, “Right after he moved in, he was eating one of those gooey McDonald’s cookies in my bed, and he got chocolate _ **everywhere**_.”

Lucas gasps, coming alive with this tiny morsel of gossip. “He got chocolate on the quilt Grandma made for you, sewing love in every stitch?”

Taemin hadn’t actually gotten chocolate anywhere except his fingers, but I was all too willing to privately slander him if that would make Lucas feel better. Grimacing dramatically, I nod my head, and Lucas groans in disgust.

“Well, as annoying as he might be,” Lucas sniffles, “Taemin is the one, you know.”

I gasp not because I haven’t already realized that; I gasp because Lucas has always been opposed to the idea of one great love. He believes that we are shaped by every relationship— romantic, friendly, familial— and that we were not made for a sole soulmate, but he insists, “It’s true! One day, probably soon, you’re gonna get married, and—”

Were it not for the sad dimples forming in his chin, I would fear that Lucas is on the brink of more baby talk. “And you’re gonna be happier than we ever imagined anyone could be! And you know that whenever you’re happy, I’m happy, but—”

Tears glisten in Lucas’s eyes, so they glisten in mine too.

“I’ll feel a teeny tiny bit sad because then Taemin will be Mom’s real son, and I’ll just be a fake son!”

I should have realized that this would somehow lead back to Mom.

“You’re not a fake son.” Even though Mom’s obvious love for Lucas should require no evidence, I offer, “Do you wanna hear something Mom told Heechul one of those times he tried to convince her to kick you out?”

Lucas nods his head.

I force myself not to roll my eyes or shake my head or express any degree of annoyance as I relate, “She said, ‘Lei is my child by blood, but Lucas is my child by choice. I can’t imagine how dull this house would be without him, and I don’t want to, so—’” As Lucas cracks a smile, I burst into laughing— “‘so shut the hell up, Heechul!’”

To ensure that Lucas’s smile doesn’t fade, I say, “Taemin is one of Mom’s kids now because I’ve fallen in love with him, but you—” I poke him in the ribs, just below his armpits, right where I know he is most ticklish, and delight in his laughter that has painted all of my happiest days— “you have always been Mom’s favorite because you’re the brightest sunspot in the universe! You’ll always be her favorite, so—”

While I am blinking, Lucas tackles me onto his bed and spills the bowl of popcorn onto the blanket. It’s hard to breathe under his weight; he’s much heavier than he looks, and I wasn’t prepared to defend myself.

Although repeating this request— this command— is a waste of limited breath, the words tumble out of my mouth anyway, “Get _**off**_ , Lucas!”

Of course, he doesn’t obey. He never obeys. He rolls me onto my back so I can watch his face contort with maniacal laughter, so he can watch the panic flashing in my eyes with the realization that I have started a tickle war.

My eyes tighten closed, and I hold my breath in anticipation of a touch that never happens.

From the doorway, Taemin clears his throat.

That sound sends Lucas flying off of me with the explanation, “We were just watching SHINee videos! We were just about to watch ‘Sherlock’ because— I doubt she has told you this— Lei has a thing for your long hair. I mean, she kind of has a thing for you with all of your different hairstyles. She told me that when ‘Replay’ came out, she thought you were the cutest boy in the world with your bowl cut, and—”

“Alright!” I pick a piece of popcorn from the bed and launch it at Lucas’s big head. “He gets it! Is nothing sacred with you, Lucas?”

“I see,” Taemin says, fighting the teasing smile determined to curl his lips. Focusing on the large frame in his hands, Taemin forces his face into a scowl. “Lei, have you talked to your fashion icon lately?”

Considering his recently expressed tension with Key, it’s obvious who Taemin is talking about, but I play dumb anyway. “Which one, Taeminnie?” I look up at him with wide eyes before sweeping Lucas’s popcorn back into its bowl. “I talk to Amber almost every day, and Taeyeon—”

Taemin interrupts with the rolling of his eyes. “Key! I’m talking about Key!” He whirls the frame around to reveal a particularly sensual poster of Key wearing some scantily clad leather outfit.

When I lean forward and squint, trying to make out which era this outfit is from, Taemin’s eyes widen. He turns the poster around and hugs the image against his body. “Stop looking at him like that!”

Lucas tries (and fails) to contain his laughter when I stand from the bed and walk to Taemin, arguing, “I’m not looking at Key like anything! I’m just trying to remember where I’ve seen that outfit before.” Closing my eyes and rubbing at my temples— that always helps me to concentrate— “I’m thinking that it was at that Tokyo Dome concert in 2014, but—”

Taemin breaks my concentration by shrieking, “You’ve seen this? In real life? With your own two eyes?”

“I was _**there**_ , so yeah.” Taemin’s disapproving stare compels me to explain, “I wasn’t there to see Key in leather or anything, Taemin. I just happened to be doing promotions in Japan while you were performing there, and I begged Mom to let me go to the concert.”

Taemin’s brow furrows as he does math in his head. “2014— that means you were about fifteen years old! Fifteen is way too young to be looking at this filth!”

“Oh yeah” I laugh, “and your outfit for the ‘Danger’ stage was very appropriate, Taemin, very suitable for young viewers.”

As Taemin’s face flushes red with embarrassment, maybe feeling aware of our age difference as I am for the first time, I say, “Don’t worry. Mom covered my eyes, so—”

“We’ve seen it since, though,” Lucas divulges through a mouthful of popcorn. He never knows what to keep to himself. “Don’t let Lei’s fake modesty fool you! We watch that Tokyo Dome Concert DVD every other month, and I’ve never seen Lei cover her eyes during any of the stages, especially not ‘Danger.’”

While I glare at Lucas over my shoulder, Taemin laughs. “Whatever. That’s not the point. This—” He lifts the poster— “came in the mail today, addressed to me. And I haven’t told Key that we were dating, let alone that I moved in with you..”

“He’s been onto us for a while,” I say to deflect responsibility for having leaked the information to Key. “While we were on tour, he asked me about your ribbon bracelet because Amber recognized it and asked him to investigate.”

“Key and Amber,” Taemin shakes his head. “There was a note attached to this. I left it downstairs. It said something like, ‘Here’s your house warming gift! You can never have enough fashion icons — Key and Amber.’”

Although Taemin seems flustered by the attention, as I lay back on Lucas’s bed, Lucas and I erupt into raucous laughter. “That’s hilarious!” we wheeze, clutching our sides.

“It’s not that funny,” Taemin mutters, “and Key is crazy if he thinks I’m hanging this filth in my remodeled closet!”

Crawling to my side, Lucas shouts, “I’ll take it if you don’t want it!”

I narrow my eyes and argue, “Your closet isn’t big enough to hang a poster in! And Key isn’t your fashion icon; he’s mine! So if anyone deserves the poster—”

“Call me crazy,” Taemin says before setting the poster against the wall and lowering himself onto Lucas’s bed, where he crawls onto my back and whispers in my ear, taking my voice and breath away, “but I don’t really want my girlfriend to look at such a scandalous image every day.”

I say, “You’re crazy,” under my breath, growing red under Taemin’s weight and Lucas’s suggestive gaze.

“Well,” Lucas grunts as he reaches for the remote that fell on the floor during the short-lived tickle war, “now I can’t get that ‘Danger’ stage out of my head!”

My mouth opens to beg Lucas not to play that— especially not with Taemin in the room, especially not with Taemin clinging to me and dropping light kisses on my cheeks— but I bite into my tongue. This, bonding over SHINee, is a good thing. This, watching music videos together as a developing family unit, counts as living in the light.

**8\. Present**

Taemin sings "Danger" around the house, I initially think, to tease me. He likes to see the cherry red color burning my cheeks at the memory of his performance; he told me so while we watched it with Lucas. Soon, however, I realize that Taemin's incessant singing could have been— should have been— taken as a warning. 

One day, he returns home from his daily practice with Jongin wearing a smile bright enough to distract me from my task of reading my story to Lucas, Mom, and Donghae in the living room. This is how Donghae decided to celebrate his return to the house: by listening attentively to my reflection on the last several months. 

Although I know that I will soon read these words to Taemin— although I know that he has heard them in my voice in past lives, and he has read them on his own maybe in the moonlight— I am not ready to read them to him now. I am not ready to tell him my recollections of that camping trip where he asked for my ribbon and I gave it, hoping only (desperately, with breathtaking intensity) to receive his genuine smile. The one that reaches his eyes. The one that I have received every day since then. 

Closing the book so suddenly that Lucas, Mom, and Donghae flinch, I beckon Taemin from his place in the doorway. "Taeminnie! Why are you smiling so brightly?" 

"I'm so happy!" He cheers as he shuffles in, lugging two tall packages. His eyes break from mine to smile at Mom. "The posters are here!" 

Mom, who has been melting into Donghae's embrace on the couch, straightens to sit on the edge of her seat. "Yay!" Her fists pump into the air, making her look very much like Lucas. "Open them here, please. I want to see!"

Mom's unrestrained excitement in no way prepares us for what we are about to say. Clueless, Donghae, Lucas, and I mirror her energy as Taemin lowers himself onto the arm of my chair, very nearly sitting in my lap. 

"Here, baby." The kiss Taemin presses to my cheek elicits a gasp from Donghae. Despite Mom's explicit warning that my boyfriend has moved in and— no— there is nothing he can say to change that, despite my interest in Taemin professed in what I have so far read of my story, Donghae must not realize that Taemin and I are together until we are right before his eyes. 

Taemin sets one package before me. "This one is for you!" 

It's awkward to unbox something under everyone's gaze, especially when Lucas grumbles from his place on the floor at Mom's feet, "I want a present too!" 

It's mortifying once I see what the present is: a full-body poster of one of Taemin's shots from the _**Ace**_ photo shoot. 

It isn't as if this is my first time seeing this picture where he boldly stares into the camera, standing shirtless. It isn't as if I haven't seen and touched the muscles in his chest and abdomen— which are much bigger now, by the way. It's just— my face burns as I see him such a vulnerable, tempting, beautiful position without warning and in front of my family. 

I mutter, "Taemin," under my breath, intending to scold him. 

This issue is that my voice comes out as a fragmented whine that further humiliates me into speechlessness. The issue is that I can't meet my real Taemin's smiling eyes, and I can't quite break free from the poster Taemin's captivating stare, and I am on fire, and—

Mom and Lucas bark, "Let us see!" and I have to comply. 

Fixing my gaze down on my lap, I turn the poster around and remind myself to just breathe as Donghae (again) gasps, Lucas whistles, and Mom says, like some kind of art critic, "The contrast shows up a lot better than I expected." 

When my voice fails, Donghae asks in a wavering tone, likely afraid to speak too forcefully and risk eviction, "You _**approve**_ of this?"

Shameless, perpetually unaware or inconsiderate of cues to be quiet, Taemin asks, "What's wrong with it?" He leans forward, brow furrowing, to study his image. "I'm really proud of this picture. It's not as pretty as the poster I got of Lei—"

My face flushes, and Donghae gawks at Taemin. "You got a poster of Lei?" 

Nodding eagerly, oblivious or immune to the daggers flying at him from Donghae's eyes, Taemin reveals the poster of me to the room. "Isn't she beautiful?"

It's a promotional picture from LX2. By no means am I as exposed as Taemin is in **_Ace_** promotional photos; still, LX2 is the most suggestive concept of my career. It's embarrassing to see myself like this, especially since I have passionately avoided the photos. 

The idol Lei wears a flattering white tube top (cut just above her belly button, of course) and matching white bell-bottoms. Over her shoulder, branded with LX2's logo, she casts a wide-eyed glance that is not at all innocent. For a moment— just a moment— I see her through Taemin's eyes. I agree: she is beautiful. 

Then, my eyes open when Donghae hisses at Mom, "You _**approved**_ of this?" He must have been avoiding the pictures too. 

Cutting her eyes at his tone, Mom replies, "She is beautiful, Donghae! Of course, I approved this!"

If I think it's annoying how Mom babies Lucas, how do I describe Mom and Taemin's shared perspective on suggestive imagery? Weird. 

Lucas cries, squinting at my image, "I've been cropped out!" He flies forward to point at the black background. "I was standing right here, looking supermegafoxyawesomehot! I had my arms around Lei! We were looking at the camera like we got caught kissing or something!" 

He over-explains, forgetting that Mom and Taemin witnessed the photo shoot and that Donghae, judging from how he covers his eyes, clearly does not want to know. 

"Lucas, honey," Mom says softly, "Taemin didn't want a poster of you holding Lei, so we had to crop you out." 

Whirling around with tears caused by the sting of betrayal forming in his eyes, Lucas sulks. "You were in on this, Mom?" 

_**Oh great,**_ my eyes rolled, _**another development in Lucas's competition with Taemin for Mom's attention.**_

"Go look at the picture on the mantle above the fireplace, honey!" Mom encourages Lucas. "There, you'll find a framed unedited version of your picture with Lei." 

Donghae, Taemin, and I watch Lucas run to the fireplace, where he releases a deep sigh of relief upon finding the picture. 

Everyone except me and Donghae is weird. Lucas is weird for caring so much about a picture we took for work; Mom is weird for commemorating the products of the LX2 photo shoot like they are family portraits taken at a department store studio; Taemin is weird for wanting this poster of me enough to edit Lucas out of the picture. 

Pecking at my forehead, Taemin asks, "What are you thinking, baby?" 

Obviously, I won't admit that I am thinking that my family is comprised entirely of weirdos, especially not with Taemin looking at me so hopefully. I try to say something positive or make an objective comment about the composition of the photos, but I can't. 

Glaring at the picture of me, I complain, "My butt is huge!" 

When I look up at Mom, asking, "You _**approved**_ of this?" Donghae is rising to his feet. He walks into the kitchen to escape the conversation; I can't say I blame him. 

Mom rolls her eyes. "Yes, I approved it! You look amazing, and judging by how well the LX2 package sold—"

"My butt is **_not_** that big!" I whine, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Why didn't you pick a picture where I didn't look like _**that**_?"

I regret saying anything when Taemin's face pales. He frowns at the picture because he can't bring himself to frown at me. In a voice so quiet that I am probably not meant to hear, he wonders, "What's wrong with it?"

The disappointed lines around his mouth deepen as he tries to see me thorugh my eyes. Suddenly, my stomach ties in knots. I never want Taemin to see me as I have always seen myself. I want him to look at me as he always has— with stars in his eyes— so I grumble, "Stop looking at it like that." 

Meeting my eyes, Taemin realizes instantly that I am upset. I don't think he understands why, though. He probably thinks that I am lashing out from the embarrassment of opening the posters before an audience, but I'm not. I'm not. I am begging him not to look at me after I have tainted his vision with my self-criticisms. 

Taemin means it when he says, "I'm sorry," as he rises to his feet, fixing his gaze on the floor. "I'll take these to my room. I'm sorry." 

When he leaves, he takes both posters with him. I don't speak up to say that I like the poster of him. I don't speak up to say that I know I'm being irrational. I just watch him carry both heavy frames up the stairs. I just hear the slam of his door that is too loud to be an accident. 

I have learned that Taemin does not cope well with rejection. I don't know anybody who does. He is more sensitive than most might expect, and I seem to have a talent for accidentally wounding his feelings. I never, ever mean to do it. I'm always sorry when I do. 

"I hate to tell ya, sis," Lucas says, collapsing on the arm of my chair that Taemin just vacated, "but you can't really blame Mom for that picture. Your butt is gonna look big in, like, every picture because—"

"Stop looking at my butt, Lucas!" I boss in a tired voice, too shocked by the sudden shift in the atmosphere to immediately chase after Taemin. "It's gross." 

Lucas raises his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Literally nobody thinks—"

He falls silent when he picks up on my glare, and Mom takes the opportunity to state the obvious: "I think Taemin's feelings are really hurt, Lei." 

I'm not going to mouth off to Mom just because I feel uncomfortable, I decide, so I bite down on my lip and listen as she continues, "Maybe it seems like he's overreacting. He probably is, but we already know that he's prone to passionate fits. Try to understand that he was trying to do something special for you. We spent hours looking through all of your pictures and all of his to find two that looked like a pair." 

I squirmed, imagining how many SHINee pictures they must have looked through before settling on that _**Ace**_ one. I knew that Taemin was thoughtful; I knew that I hadn't meant to belittle his efforts; still, no knowledge could have defended me from the rising wave of guilt. 

As Lucas drops an arm around me to remind me that this isn't that big of a deal, to keep me grounded, to protect me from the downward spiral— his greatest talent— Donghae advises from the kitchen, "Give him some time to cool off, Lei. He'll be okay." 

**. . .**

When Taemin hasn't returned downstairs by the time Mom and Donghae have finished making dinner like a cutesy couple from a drama— oblivious to the fact that they are the subject of Lucas's incognito photo shoot— Mom sends me upstairs to get him. She doesn't tell me to apologize, but I have an apology pressed to the tip of my tongue by the time I knock on Taemin's door. 

"Dinner is ready," I announce first. That doesn't compel Taemin to open the door, though, so I add, "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings. Mom explained—"

The door swings open, and Taemin pulls me into his room by looping his arm around my waist. His smile, coupled with the kiss he drops on my lips, implies that there are no hard feelings between us. He is not expecting an apology. 

I am relieved not because I am too proud to apologize but because— I don't know— maybe this is irresponsible or somehow unrealistic, but I like skipping ahead to the next happy moment with Taemin. I don't like standing in the dark for longer than necessary. 

"Look at how good they look together!" Excitedly, Taemin points to the ceiling above his bed (which is now decorated by white sheets similar to those he had at the SuperM house), where he has managed to secure our posters. 

Objectively, they do look good together. If I didn't know better, I might believe that both pictures were taken in the same place at the same time. There is something kind of romantic about drawing parallels between our separate art. My heart flutters. 

I don't know how to say that yet, but I will learn. For now, I ask, blushing and averting my gaze from the posters' "What will you do if they fall on us in our sleep? Do you even think you'll fall asleep with them staring at you like that?" 

"If they fall, maybe they'll knock some sense into me," Taemin jokes, laughing away my valid concern about, you know, the very real force of gravity. "And I don't mind them looking at me. You look at me like that—" he points at my poster— "all the time!" 

He winks just before I release the faintest laugh and swipe lightly at his shoulder. "I do not! Stop daydreaming and come on!" I grab his hand and pull him toward the door. "Everyone is waiting for us!"

Taemin insists, “You do so!” 

I don’t keep arguing; I am too happy that he lets me hold his hand on his walk downstairs. 

**9\. The Moon**

When I refuse to sleep under the posters— at least until Mom guarantees that they are hung properly and their stares no longer make my stomach knot— Taemin agrees to sleep in my room again. 

While we wash our faces side by side because he loves this kind of domesticity, Taemin says, "You know you're beautiful, right?" His head goes aslant. "Even if you think the poster is weird, you know there's nothing wrong with your appearance, right?" 

Body image is an uncomfortable topic. I don't especially enjoy discussing it with anybody, probably especially not with perfect gorgeous ideal Taemin. I don't resent his perfection or anything; I admire it. I just don't like questions like his because there is only one acceptable answer. Anything contrary will arouse concern, and I don't want his concern. I don't need his concern. 

I nod my head because that is the right thing to do. 

Taemin keeps looking at me, so I profess, "Being pretty on the outside isn't important at all. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words 'pretty' and 'handsome' can ever define a person." Turning my gaze to the counter, finding my reflection there too, I conclude, "Or, at least, they shouldn't. Those words are too small." 

Or, at least, that's something somebody I trust entirely taught me once upon a time. God, I so rarely trust anyone entirely. 

"That's true," Taemin nods thoughtfully. His tone softens like he knows that my heart feels tender. "But you are pretty on the outside. It's okay to say that. Your beauty isn't superficial. The surface and the depths are beautiful." 

I smile and say, "Thank you," because — why would I ever want to argue with kindness? "It goes without saying that I think the same thing about you." 

"Maybe it does." Taemin shrugs before drying his hands and standing behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans so that his chin rests on my shoulder. "But I like hearing it anyway." 

It isn't difficult to smile at our reflection and say out loud, "You're beautiful inside and out." 

He whispers in my ear, reaching for my hand to ensure that the moon— our moon— is secured in my grasp, "I think you would benefit from saying that to yourself from time to time." 

And I know that he is right. 

I will try.


End file.
